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IWITERSITY  OF 
WORTH  CAROLINA 

(Shool  of  LibfS^ry 
Seienee 


'ly.j^nmftetJ^m^iiW  ■ : 


^     CHILD  l\e)^f 

Jo  Cowe  ujJTo  <;i?€. 


SUNDAY. 

188  5. 

Reading  for  Young  and  Old. 


WITH  UPWARDS  OF 

Two  Hundred  and  Fifty  Original  Illustrations 
By  G.  L.  Seymour,  P.  Thumann,  Helen  Miles,  T.  Pym, 

AND    OTHERS. 


NEW   YORK: 

E.    p.    BUTTON    AND    COMPANY, 

89  \VEST  TWENTY-THIRD   STREET. 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2012  with  funding  from 

University  of  North  Carolina  at  Chapel  Hilh 


http://archive.org/details/sundayreadingforOOseym 


60Kf  1-MTi 


A  BoU  Effort  Rowardea  . 

A  Boy  Poet 

A  Boy's  Hnlf-holiday 

A  Brave  Girl 

A  Cat  Story        .        .        . 

A  Cockchafer  School 

A  Cruel  Invader 

A  Dog's  Despair 

A  Doer's  Power  of  Reasoniiig; 

A  Father's  Treasures 

A  French  Conscript  . 

A  Horse  Audience 

A  Lie 

A  Little  Hero     . 

A  Little  Maiden's  Reply   . 

A  Man  of  Peace  . 

Au  Arab's  respect  for  Bread 

An  Eastern  Beauty   . 

An  Elephant  Anecdote     . 

An  Enemy  Turned  into  a  Friend 

An  Odd  Spelling-book 

An  Old  Proverb 

Aloae  .."... 

A  Parable  .... 

A  Persian  Fable         .        • 

A  Pet  Monkey    .        .        ■ 

A  Quaker's  Charity  . 

A  Scripture  Alphabet 

A  Son's  Devotion 

A  Story  of  Christmas  Eve 

A  Story  of  Pots  and  Kettles 

Association 

A  True  Sayins 

At  the  Scaflord 


Annt  Lonsia's  Gold  Beads,  302,  306,  322, 


330,  338,  350,  354,  362, 


■ht,    118; 
■nions 


A  Village  Genius 

A  Young  Housekeeper 

Bad  Company    . 

Bible    Woeds  :  —  Thou 
Hipocrites,  205 ;  Quater 

Birds  Peck  the  best  Fruit 

Borrowed  Plumes 

Buried  but  not  Dead 

Carl's  Hunting  Espedition 

■  Caught,  my  Friend  ! ' 

Character  . 

Chinese  Thermometer 

Choosing  a  Husband 

Christmas  Greeting  . 

Clusters 

Cripples 

Deeds  and  "Words 

Dejected  Ned 

Does  God  see  ?    . 

Docility  and  Patience 

Do  what  you  Say 

Earthly  Greatness     . 

Eastern  Life  in  Tents 

Eight  Golden  Rules  . 

Ella's  Protector 

Enid    .... 

Even  Kings  must  Work 

Everybody's  Corner  :■ 
a  r^au  li.  -.air  ^  '  0  TL-^ 
the  Zodiac,38 ;  Eastern  Reverence. 
50;  Jehovai,  86;  Quintain,  102; 
"What  One  Printing-press  may  Do, 
no ;  A  Roman  Soldier's  Gear,  186  ; 
Russian  Markets,  223;  Tlie  Two 
Scribes,  310 ;  Tears  and  Tear-bot- 
tles, 333  ;  Emblem  of  the  Trinity 


374, 


Pass 

.  335 

.  66 

.  4,2 

.  263 
18,26 

.  395 

.  287 

.  191 

.  247 

.  373 

.  93 

.  215 

.  8t 

.  274 

.  251 

.  170 

.  31 

.  410 

.  299 

.  118 

.  247 

.  315 

.  279 

.  331 

.  366 

.  226 

.  213 


.  155 
.  366 
106,  130 
.  253 
.  215 
74 


377,  390, 

394,  403 

203 


Charming 
Uj  of 


258 
379 

357 

207 

86 

31 

242 

226 

47 

28 

187 

410 

381 

374 

286 

271 

279 

143 

263 

162 

399 

11 

239 

356 

28 


403 


Evy's  Lesson 119 

Faith  and  Sight         .        .        .        .107 
Talsehood  ...  .08,  111 

Fetters  or  Fi'eedom  ?        .        .        .114 

Eoxy's  Advice 399 

Freddie's  Birthday    .  .        .      90 

Fritz  and  Father  Stork    .        .        .397 
'  Get  Out,  you  Brute  ! '      .        .        .78 

Gobble-up  ! 405 

God's  Eternity 146 

God's  Providence       ....      79 
*  God's  Providence  is  mine  Inheri- 
tance'     .  ....    291 


Page 
Good  and  lU  News  .  .  .  .359 
'  Go  to  the  Ant '  ....  371 
Great  Ends  and  Little  Beginnings  .  270 
Grandfather's  Lesson  .  .  .  '107 
Ham-ti's  Triumph  ....  343 
Hindoo  Servants  .  .  .  .202 
History  of  the  Penny        ...      63 

Honesty 251 

How  Some  People  Travel  : — 

Europe,  172 ;  Asia,  317, 323 ;  Africa  347 
How  the  Jfatc  Saved  the  Tide  .  .  102 
Hubert  and  DoUy  .  .  .  .387 
Human  Kindness  ....  27 
Idleness  means  Poverty  .  .  .  343 
'  If  you  Please '  ....    366 

'I'm  here' 170 

Innocence 134,  255 

In  the  Northern  Snow  .  .  .  390 
In  the  Upper  Room  .  .  .  .238 
'  It  is  an  111  "Wind.'  .  .  .  .118 
Jacko's  Tormentors  ....  218 
Jack  Tar's  Match  .  .  .  .186 
Jerusalem  and  Olivet  ...  53 
Johnny's  Pocket-money  .        .    336 

Jules  and  Jidie 362 

Knowledge  and  Rest  .  .  .  286 
Lan-y's  Ambition       ....    354 

Lazybones 189 

Leaves  from  Noble  Lives:— 
Francis  Joseph  Campbell,  54,  70 ; 
John  Howard         ....    142 

Life 399 

Life's  B.attle      .        .  .        .      63 

Lion  Habits 231 

Lisa's  Birthday  Party  .  .  -  359 
Little  Prayers  for  Little 
Things: — While  Dressing,  301; 
On  Waking  in  the  Morning,  315 ; 
On  Receiving  Praise,  357  ;  At 
Noon,  366 ;  At  Meals  .        .      399 

Little  Rules  for  Daily  Life  .  .  331 
Little  Rides  for  Little  Folk  .  .  383 
Marg.aret's  Waif         .         .         .         .327 

Marion's  Geese 15 

Maxim  of  Confucius  .        .        .        .      23 

Men  of  God 58 

Missing 79 

Mixed  Pickles,  5, 12,  20,  29,  34,  43,  60,  61, 

66.  74,  83,  91,  99,  107,  114, 125,  133,  138, 

147,  158,  165,  182, 187,  194,  202, 211,  219, 

237,  243,  253,  258,  266,  277,  286 

More  Frightened  than  Hurt    .        .    398 

Nature  Gives  and  Takes  .        .     127 

Nature's  Child,  Boy  and  Man  .        .      98 

Newspapers 131 

Nina's  Afternoon  ....  167 
No  Beggars  Allowed  ....    146 

No  Evil 199 

No  Return 28 

Only  a  Halfpenny  1    .    135, 138,  150, 166, 
174,  178 
Only  a  Little  Boy      .        .        .        .358 
Only  on  Sundays        ....      99 
Otlier  People's  Feelings   .        .        .207 
•  Onr  Cousin  Winnie  '         .        .        78,  87 
Uuit  L/i>M.ti  TEACHjiRS  :  —  Socrates, 
123  ;  Faithful  in  Small  and  Great, 
1-16  ;      Affection    in    Birds,    234  ; 
Memory  in  Elephants,  322  ;  Kind- 
ness and  Gratitude         .        .        .    333 
Onr  Princesses'  Dinner-parties         .    307 
Outside  and  Inside     ....    266 
Outside  Heaven  ....      36 

Oxen  in  the  Bible      ....      28 

Perseverance 350 

Play-gardens 210 

Please! 19 

Precious  as  Gold  ....  371 
Proverbs  Old  and  New,  66,  155,  190,  203 
Queen  "Victoria  and  her  Minister  .  346 
Ragamuffin  Tom, 205, 314, 321, 229, 235,246, 
260,  269,  275,  282,  293,  30O,  307,  314,  326 

Revenge      3 

Saint  John's  Day       .  .        .    282 

School 382 

Seedlings 371 


Self-praise 

'  Setting  the  Thames  on  Firo '  . 

Shoes,  or  No  Shoes  ?         .        .        . 

Signs  of  the  Zodiac: — The  Water- 
bearer,  .15;  The  Fish,  76;  Aries, 
109  ;  Taurus,  149  ;  Gemini,  213  ; 
The  Crab,  252 ;  Leo,  268 ;  Virgo, 
316;  Libra,  341;  The  Scorpion, 
364 ;  Sagittarius.  380  ;  The  Goat  . 

Sirrah! 

Sir  Walter  Scott's  Dog  '  Camp ' 

Small  Things 

Somebody  Cares  for  You  . 

Stilpon 

Straws 

Strong  Minds 

Sundays  in  Quarantine      .     231,  298, 

Sunny  Sue 

Sunshine 

Sylvia's  Sacrifice        .        .        .     406, 

*  Talking  to  Jesus '    .        .        . 

Tame  Tom 

Tempted  of  the  Devil 

The  Alhcyt  Edward  Lifeboat 

The  Animals  of  the  Bible  : — The 
Lion,  46,  58 ;  The  Fox,  82,  94;  The 
Elephant,  190;  The  Goat,  198; 
The  Sheep,  250;  The  Dog,  290; 
The  Wild  Boar        .... 

The  Arab  and  the  Lord's  Prayer 

The  Battle  of  Agincourt   . 

The  Beginnings  of  Conscience 

The  Best  Attitude     .... 

The  Blind  Basket-girl 

The  Boy  who  Remembered  what  he 
was  Taught 

The  Death  of  Polycarp     . 

The  Depths 

The  Dog  and  the  Pasties  . 

The  Dying  Soldier     .... 

The  Engineer's  Pattern    . 

The  Fall  of  the  Holy  City 

The  First  Steamer     .... 

The  Hindoo's  Honesty 

The  King  in  his  Garden    . 

The  Lady  Una 

The  Lost  One's  Return 

The  Midnight  Climb 

The  Old  Man's  Difficulties 

The  PUgrim  Fathers 

The  Prisoner  of  War 

The  Red  Man's  Home 

The  Riddle  of  the  Year     . 

The  Roman  Slave      .... 

The  Shepherd  of  Salisbury  Plain     . 

The  Smuggler's  Grave 

The  Star 

The  Story  of  Nunnia 

The  Three  Degrees  of  Comparison  . 

The  Three  Little  Pigs,  151,  lot,  162, 170, 

The  Tinker  Preacher  of  Elstow 

The  Tongue 

The  Tower  of  Repentance 

The  True  God    . 

The  Truest  Charity  . 

The  Turning-point  in  a  Life 

Tue  value  oi  a  i'iirLniim   . 

The  Way  to  Get  Knoivledge 

The  Way  to  Succeed  at  La.st 

The  Wealth  of  Poverty     . 

Three  Ones 

Through  the  W.aves  . 

Time  and  Eternity     . 

Treasui-e  Trove  . 

Tried  as  by  Fire 

Time  as  Steel 

True  Riches 

True  Worth 

Truth  .... 

Twenty  Years  Ago 

Washing  of  Feet 

"Wliat  is  Happiness  ?  . 

What  will  you  give  up  ?     . 

Which  Motto  is  Yours  ?     . 

Wonderful  Escapes  :  —  Samuel 
Proctor,  102  ;  The  Seal-hunters   . 

Working  for  Good  and  Evil 


Page 
314 
237 
94 


404 
71 
3S8 
58 
102 
350 
274 
301 
370 
199 
114 
411 
239 
47 
286 
334. 


318 

223 


228 
333 


234 
163 
287 
287 

50 
207 
3t2 
194 
186 
374 
314 
231 
332 
335 
315 
381 
111 
101 
349 
155 

38 
310 
123 
301 
179 

93 
102 
277 

90 
221 

SO 
118 
407 

3S 

62 

87 
243 
299 
7 
210 
335 

23 
119 
166 
,10 
255 
205 
7 


218 
213 


859S37 


CONTENTS. 


POETRY. 


Page 
ABC  Saw 1^3 

Across  Life's  Sea .    .     .    .    7i 

Angels 29-5 

A  Sunday  Acrostic    .     .    .  170 
A  Winter  Scene    ....      8 

Baby  Muriel 327 

*  Baby's  Toys ' 403 

Bells' 32,  33 

Blossomini:^  Time ....    82 
Buz  and  Carlo .-  a  Fable    .    83 

Calmness So") 

Canty  Bay 36i> 

Charlie 95 

Christmas  Carol  ....    33 

Evening 3li 

Evening  Twilight     .    .     .319 

Eventide 373 

Everything  has  Something  156 

Father's  Return   ....  140 
Friendless! 370 


Page 

Give 6S 

Glitterin? 318 

•  Godly  Quietness  '     .     .     .  223 

H^ymakin-j-tiras  ....  I?.') 
Human  Greatness  .  .  .  277 
Humility  is  Safe  ....  lOJ 

Joy  in  Heaven 410 

Life's  Footsteps  ....  193 
Lost 3 

Man's  PLissions  ....  37^ 
Meadow-sweet      ....  29-5 

Memories 147 

Miss  Mariirold's  Love  .  .  (j3 
Morning  Pi-ayer  ....  7 
Morning  Sunbeams  .  .  .  379 
My  Sins 301 

Ned  and  the  Bee  .  .  .  .201- 
Nellie's  Kindueis ....  127 


Pa^a 

One  Year  Old ilO 

Only  a  Piece  of  Amber  .  46 
Other  Lands  across  the  Sea  23 
Praise  the  Lord    ....    60 

Ram  among  the  Hills    .    .  343 

Seaside  Whispers ....    55 

See-saw  ! 292 

Song  of  the  Fishermin  .  12 
Sundays 271 

The  Blackbird's  Nest  .  .  282 
The     Children's     Harvest 

Fostiv.il 325 

The     Cottager's     Orphan 

Babe 383 

The  First  Wild  Rose  .  .  332 
Tbe  Fisherman's  Daughter  122 
TUe  Four  Sweet  Months  .  184 
The  Homes  of  England  .  185 
Tae  Lily's  Lesson     .    ,    .  116 


PaK9 
The  Little  Star  ....  162 
The  Ministry  of  Angels      .  310 

The  New  Year 37 

The  Old  Home 23S 

The  Old  Year 411 

The  Organ  Boy  ....  101 
The     Primrose    and    the 

Violet 315 

The  Rescue 334 

The  Rose  of  Sharon  .  .  .  31S 
The  Squirrel  and  the  Rooks  219 

The  Swing 255 

The  Village  Oak  .  .  .  .357 
Three  Little  Daisies      .     .  302 

Time  Lost 279 

*  Toby ! ' 393 

Two  Little  Buds  ....  187 
Two  Little  Duckies  .  .  .247 
Two  Little  Ferns.     ...    90 

What    Little  Things   and 
Little  Folks  can  Do.    .    31 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


COLOTJ^iEID       :FI^OISrTIS:PIECE. 


Page 

ABC  Saw Ja3 

A  Brave  Girl  Afraid  .  .  264 
A  Boy's  Half-holiday  .  .  41 
Across  the  Bar  ....  121 
Across  the  Common  .  .  312 
A  Desperate  Moment  .  .  176 
A  Father's  Treasures  .  .  372 
A  Horse  Audience  .  .  .  216 
An  Eastern  Beauty  .  .  .  409 
An  Israelite  of  Old  .  .  .  57 
Anxious  Expectation  .  .  137 
A  Pair  of  Love-  Birds  .  .  233 
A  Picture  of  Patience  and 

Docility 144 

A  poor  Dog's  Despair  .  .  193 
A  Rainy  Day  on  the  Hills  .  3 14 
A  H.ide  down  Hill  .  .  .  352 
A  Russian  Gameilealer  .  .  224 
A  Story  of  Pots  and  Pans  .  105 
At  the  Edge  of  the  Forest  15i 
At  the  West  End  ....  129 
A  Winter  Scene  ....  S 
A  Young  Housekeeper  .    .  257 

Bella 32,  33 

Better    than    a    hundred 

Sheplierds 72 

Borrowed  Plumes     ...    So 

Brave  Baby 3d7 

Bunyan's    Wife    pleading 

for  him 93 

Canty  Bay 365 

'  Caught ! ' 225 

Charlie 96 

Christmas  Day  ....  4 
Conrad  and  the  Cockchafer  393 

Dead  Beat  in  the  Snow     .  3S9 

Dejected  Ned 272 

'  Don't  you  be  afraid'  .  .  3ri2 
*  Dressmg-up  ! '      ....  405 

Erdmann  in  Trouble  .  .  360 
Evening  Rest    .  ...  345 

Eventide 373 

Evy's  Fright 120 

Father's  Return  ....  141 

Floral  Borders  60,  69,  116,  lo6. 

184,  204,  332,  3S3 

Friendless 36J 

Fritz  and  the  Stork  .  397 


Page 

Gobble  Up 405 

Going  for  a  Swing    .     .     .  256 
Grandfather's  Lesson   .     .  40i 

Happy  Sunday  Afternoons   28, 

101,  189,  212,  253,  2:15.  333, 
358,  3S1 
Harold     tumbles     pretty 

often 368 

*  He  trudged  valiantly  back, 

a  ^-ain  ' 241 

He  watched  her  going  to 

Leeward 104 

How  some  People  Travel     172, 

173,  174,  317,  318,   323,  324, 

347,  348,  349 

'I'm  here!' 169 

In  his  Glory 97 

Jacko's  Tormentors  .     .     .  217 
Jerusalem  and  the  Mount 

of  Olives 53 

'  Johnny  dived  to  the  bot- 
tom of  his  pocket '     .     .  3S5 
Johnny's  Harvest      .     .     .  117 
.lules  and  Julie     ....  3'U 
Just  in  Time 17/ 

Larry  Practising  ....  353 
Looking  across  the  Sea     .    24 
Lost— and  JSight    coming 
on 3 


328 

16 

81 

296 

392 


Margaret's  Waif  .... 

Marion's  Geese      .     . 

May's  Blossoms    .... 

Meadow-sweet 

Meg  playing  with  the  Beads 

'Merrily  switching  his  rod, 
was  his  Sou' 273 

'  Mike  startled  the  whole 
Hou=elioia' 24S 

Mixed  Pickles — Vignettes  5, 13, 
15,  20,  21,  29,  31,  35.  3o,  44, 
51,  01,  68,  75,  84,92,  100,  30.^, 
125,  126,  134,  140,  14a,  15:;, 
165,  18:i,  196,  203,  223,  228, 
243,  244,  259,267,277 

More  Frightened  than  Hurt  297 

Mrs.  Bbi'-kie's  Visitors  .     .     17 

Muffin  Morning         ,    .     .  329 


Page 
Newspaper^ — Laying-on  .  132 
New-Year  Day  ....  37 
Nina's  Afternoon   in   the 

Gardens 168 

Now,  young  Ladies,  atten- 
tion, if  you  please  '     .    .  35S 

On  the  Edge  of  the  Forest  164 
On  the  Lonely  Shore     .     .    73 

One  Year  Old 110 

Our  Dumb  Teachers  .  .  124 
Outline  Pictures  to  Colour 

157,  181,  245 
Outside  and  Inside  .  .  .  265 
Outside  Cairo 400 

Paley's  Turning-point  .  .  49 
Paul  nearly  thrown  off  the 

Plank 281 

PLaymates 240 

Polycarp  before  the  Pro- 
Consul  161 

Ponto  and  his  Friend  .  ,  337 
Poor  Cupid's  Feelings  .  .  208 
Pursued 180 

Ragamuffin  Tom— Vignettes 
205,   214.   221,   223.  239,  230, 
236,  237,   260,  261,  269,   276, 
284,  293,   294,  300,  301.   307, 
308,  309,  326 

Salcombe  Days  ....  9 
See-saw  and  Boat  .  .  .  29J 
'  She  had  fallen  asleep '  .  33(: 
'  bhe  let  the  Child  place  the 

beads  about  her  throat '.  315 
'  She  was  just  in  time.'       .  153 
Signs  of  the  Zodiac  : 
The  Water-bearer ...    45 

Pisces 76 

Aries 109 

Taurus 149 

Gemini 213 

Oancer 252 

lico 2o8 

Virgo 316 

Libra 341 

The  Scorpion     ....  364 

Sagittarius 380 

Capricornus 401 

Sulci's  First  Introduction.  145 
Snuny  aue 200 


Page 
'  Sunshine's  Bow  *  .  .  .  113 
Susie  at  the  Window  .  .  376 
'  Susie    ran  to   the   front 

door' 340 

Susie's  Repentance  .  .  .  377 
Sylvia's  Sacrifice  ....  413 

The  Aitimals  of  the  Bible  : 
A  Royal  Captive    .     .    .193 

The  Goat 197 

Sheep 249 

The  Dog 289 

The  Wild  Boar  ....  320 
The  Beginning  of  a  Great 

Man 64 

The  Biscuits  gone  !  .  .  .209 
The  Cat  was  bewildered  .  28a 
The     Children's     Harvest 

Festival 325 

The  Elephant  remembers  .  321 
The  Family  Heirloom  .  .  401 
The  Fishing  Boat  ...  12 
The  Haymakers  ....  160 
The  Homes  of  England  .  185 
The  Lady  Una  .  ,  .  .  31S 
The  Lost  One  Found  .  ,  232 
The  News  arrived  at  the 

Nursery 77 

The  Old  Cat's  Story  .  .  .  25 
The  Old  Churchyard  .  .  40 
The  Old  Priory  ....  1 
The  Poet's  Sunny  Comer .  65 
The  Pussy's  New  Home  .  128 
The  Red  Man's  Welcome  .  112 
The  Seaside 66 

*  The    Twins    could    hear 

what  she  said '  .  .  .  .  280 
The  Unfortunate  Slate  .  304 
The  Unwelcome  Guest .  .  48 
The  Village  Oak  ....  357 
The  Young  Coi-poral     .     .     80 

'  Toby ! ' 393 

Tommy  with   the    Raven 

and  Frog 396 

Treasure  Trove    ....      7 

*  True  as  Steel '     ...     .335 

Uncle  Fred's  Shadows  .     .    8S 

Was  it  Curiosity,  or  Fear  ?  136 
Will  Somers  at  Work  .  .  201 
'Woa!  Woa!' 89 


The  Old  Priory. 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


TWENTY    YEARS    AGO. 

'  WENTY  years  is  a  long  time ; 

„^j-     _    ■    w     yet  I  remember  it  all  as  if  it 

^3f='S^|^  L    were  only  yesterday — the  event 

■which  turned  the  cm-rent 

of    my    whole    life,    and 

changed  my  future. 

It  was  a  simple  acci- 
dent in  itself,  yet,  as  it 
shows  how  Providence 
shapes  our  ends,  let  us 
rough  hew  them  as  we 
will,  it  is  worth  telling. 
I  was  then  a  young  fellow,  just  entering 
manhood,  had  passed  my  college  examination 
successfully,  and  having  in  addition  obtained  a 
very  good  appointment  under  Government  in  one 
■of  the  colonies,  was  paying  a  round  of  good-hye 
visits  to  my  friends  before  sailing  for  my  distant 
■work  in  the  steamer  that  was  to  start  from 
Plymouth  on  the  very  day  before  my  birth- 
day—  a  horrid  day  to  start,  but  needs  must, 
and  there  was  no  help  for  it. 

At  that  time  an  unole  lived  at  a  dear  old 
place  on  the  Thames,  that  had  once  been  an 
abbey,  but  for  many  years  had  been  tised  as  a 
private  residence,  and  under  the  name  of  '  The 
Priory,'  had  been  my  uncle's  home  for  a  long 
period. 

A  men-y  party  were  gathered  there,  and  a 
•week  passed  very  pleasantly,  in  spite  of  my 
prospect  of  a  long  voyage.  My  uncle  and 
•some  of  the  elders  were  out  driving  nearly 
every  day,  while  some  of  us  youngsters  marched 
off  to  bag  a  few  head  of  game  in  the  home 
covers,  or  had  a  spin  in  somfe  of  the  quiet 
•deeps  for  the  wily  jack,  or,  what  was  even 
more  fun,  took  charge  of  a  boatload  of  ladies, 
cousins  and  friends,  and  made  a  sort  of  autumn 
|)icnic,  rowing  a  few  miles  up  the  river  and 
back,  and  taking  our  lunch  in  the  boat.  The 
lidies,  wrapped  up  in  shawls  and  fm's,  did  not 
feiel  tlie  cold,  although  the  season  was  pretty 
swell  advanced. 

One  evening,  when  my  visit  was  drawing  to  an 
iend, — we  had  all  been  romping  in  high  spirits, 
jplaying  at  round  games  till  we  were  hot  and 
very  excited, — one  of  my  cousins,  whom  I  will 
call  Clara,  happened  to  lift  the  blind,  and  looked 
<out  across  the  lawn  and  river. 

■'  Oh,  what  a  perfect  night  1'  she  cried.  '  Charlie, 


come  here  and  look  :  it  is  as  still  as  possible,  and 
almost  as  light  as  day.' 

I  looked.  It  was  as  she  said,  a  perfect  night : 
the  moon  was  like  a  huge  globe  of  silver,  and 
threw  its  pale  beams  over  everything,  lighting 
up  lawns  and  river,  till  the  latter  gleamed  like 
burnished  silver. 

Without  thinking  of  what  I  said,  I  sang  out, 
'  I  vote  we  go  out  for  a  row ;  it  is  not  cold,  and  the 
river's  as  light  as  day.     Who'll  go?' 

'  I  will  I '  cried  half  a  dozen  of  them  ;  and  in  a 
few  minutes  the  girls  ran  off  to  put  on  wraps  and 
thick  shoes,  while  we  boys  went  to  get  a  couple 
of  boats  ready. 

While  we  walked  down  to  the  boat-house  and 
got  out  the  boats  we  made  up  the  separate 
parties,  and  by  the  time  we  had  brought  the 
craft  up  to  the  garden  steps  had  settled  it  all 
satisfactorily. 

A  very  meiTy  party  we  were,  as  the  two 
boats  pushed  off  and  entered  the  deep  shadows 
made  by  the  magnificent  trees  that  overhung  the 
river.  '  It  was  like  entering  a  cavern,'  some  of 
them  said. 

Our  boats  were  not  overloaded.  The  first 
contained  my  eldest  cousin  George,  and  a  friend 
in  his  own  regiment  who  had  come  to  stay 
Christmas,  George's  sister  Alice,  who  steered 
and  knew  the  river,  and  three  other  girls,  two 
of  them  also  cousins,  and  one  visitor'. 

In  our  own  boat,  which  was  larger,  we  had 
Harry  Vane  and  myself,  and  Cousin  Dick,  and 
eight  ladies  in  all,  including  Clara  and  Aunt 
Julia.  We  three  youngsters  flattered  ourselves 
we  could  pull  as  fast  as  the  two  militaries,  as  we 
called  George  and  his  friend,  though  we  were 
much  the  heavier  boatload. 

It  was  a  lovely  night,  and  we  could  hear 
the  songs  and  laughter  from  the  other  boat 
come  back  down  the  still  night  air,  while  the 
sound  enabled  us  to  judge  our  distance  from 
them. 

Presently  we  came  to  where  the  stream 
divided ;  one  branch  came  from  the  mill,  a  quarter 
of  a  mile  above,  the  other  was  the  main  river. 
There  we  paused  to  hear  which  way  they  had 
gone. 

'  Coo-oo-ey,'  sang  out  Harry. 

'  Coo-oo-ey,'  came  l)ack  the  echo  in  the  night 
air.     But  no  answer  from  George. 

'  They  are  playing  us  a  trick,'  said  Dick,  '  in 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


hiding  under  the  trees  somewhere.  I  vote  we 
go  on  straight  up  the  river.' 

'  Had  we  not  better  try  to  find  them  ? '  ventured 
Aunt  Julia.  '  1  hope  nothing  dreadful  has 
happened ! ' 

'  You  are  right,  aunt,'  I  cried.  '  I  know  what 
we'll  do ;  we'll  put  on  a  spurt  up  the  hack- 
water,  and  if  they  are  here  we  must  find  them  : 
they  cannot  pass  the  mill  or  weir.  Put  it 
on,  lads  I  We'll  have  'em  I '  And  the  three  of 
lis  bent  with  a  will,  and  soon  got  a  good 
racing  pace  on  the  boat,  loaded  in  the  stern 
though  she  was. 

'  There  they  are  I '  cried  Clara,  as  we  rounded 
the  stream,  and  she  was  able  to  see  the  party 
standing  on  the  bank  in  the  moonlight,  for  they 
had  landed. 

'  Steer  straight  for  them,'  I  called  out ;  and 
with  a  rush,  pulling  as  hard  as  we  could,  we 
made  for  the  bank. 

They  say  George  shouted,  'Easy  all  I  steady  I' 
if  so,  none  of  us  heard  him,  for  our  merriment 
and  noise  drowned  all  else.  The  boat  shot 
through  the  thin  fringe  of  rushes  that  lined  the 
bank,  and  instead  of  gracefully  beaching  her  on 
the  sloping  shore  as  I  had  intended,  there  was  a 
violent  blow,  a  jerk,  and  smash  of  something. 


which  nearly  threw  us  off  our  seats,  and  some  of 
the  girls  almost  into  the  water. 

The  next  moment  showed  what  had  happened. 
The  water  was  rushing  into  the  boat  through  a 
hole  as  big  as  a  hat;  we  had  run  upon  a  post,. 
and  knocked  a  whole  plank  out. 

The  girls  screamed,  for  the  weight  of  the  water- 
running  down  into  the  stern  was  causing  the 
boat  to  settle  down,  and  it  was  certain  that  in. 
less  than  a  minute  we  should  all  be  in. 

'  Jump  out,'  I  shouted  to  the  two  boys,  *  and 
hold  her  up  by  the  stern .'  And  as  I  called  we  all 
jumped  together;  but,  alas  !  it  was  deep  water, 
and  there  we  were  almost  helpless,  for  we  could 
neither  of  us  touch  the  bottom. 

In  less  time  than  this  takes  to  tell,  George  and 
his  friend  were  down  the  bank,  and  laid  hold  of  the^ 
nose  of  the  boat ;  but  even  as  they  held  her,  sh& 
went  do^vn  by  the  stern,  and  the  next  moment  alt 
eight  of  our  ladies  were  struggling  together  in  the 
water.  (Concluded  in  our  next. ) 


BEVEIfaE. 

BY  taldng  revenge  for  an  injury,  one  is  evei> 
with  one's  enemy ;  in  passing  it  over,  one- 
is  far  snporior. 


LOST. 

IT  is  only  a  lost  child — nothing  more — 
With  little  bare  feet 
On  the  cold  hard  street ; 
Her  eyes  full  of  tears, 
Her  heart  full  of  fears  : 
Will  no  one  take  pity,  and  open  his  door  ? 

But  the  hurrying  feet  pass  on,  pass  on. 

No  time  to  pity 

In  this  great  city. 

Only  a  child. 

With  her  blue  eyes  mild, 
Wistfully  gazing  as  the  crowd  moves  along. 

It  is  only  a  lost  child — nothing  more — 

Going  astray 

Far  away,  far  away. 

With  love  in  our  heart, 

Let  us  do  our  part, 
And  pity  the  homeless,  and  op3n  our  door. 

Joanna  McKisan. 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


MIXED    PICKLES. 

By  Lousia  F.  Kelt),  Author  of  ITic  TTrnj  ThifJiei-. 
)  \^\  CHAPTER  I. IDLE  HANDS. 

\  ^^/"'^ '  — /  ^^®  ^^''y  ■'°^®-^y '  ^^  ^^^  iiot 

\^_  ^        lonely  because  she  was  alone, 


for  she  was  rather  fond  of  wandering  off  by 
herself,  away  from  every  one  else,  and  talking  to 
herself  and  to  the  birds  and  flowers,  and  still 
more  to  any  little  stream  that  came  in  her  way. 
But  then  to  be  alone  because  you  fancy  it,  and 
to  be  alone  because  there  is  no  one  to  play  wth, 
are  two  very  different  things,  and  the  last  was 
Bryda's  case. 

'  If  I  had  even  a  kitten,'  she  said  aloud, 
standing  before  the  sun-dial  in  her  grand- 
mother's old-fashioned  garden,  and  looking  at 
the  shadow  that  did  not  seem  to  move  at  all. 
Bryda  had  read  of  King  Hezekiah,  for  whom 
the  shadow  moved  backwards;  she  wished  it 
would  move  a  little  forwards  for  her,  and  bring 
tea-time,  after  which  meal  she  might  go  and  sit 
by  the  couch  of  her  invalid  cousin,  Salome, 
who  had  soft  fingers  that  rested  soothingly  on 
her  rumpled  hair,  and  a  soft  low  voice   that 


told  pleasant  stories  pleasantly,  and  good  long 
ones,  too. 

'  If  I  had  only  a  kitten  I ' 

Whj',  only  yesterday,  before  Uncle  Jack  went 
away  and  took  all  the  brightness  of  the  house 
with  him,  he  said  he  thought  there  were  Ivittens 
in  a  loft  over  the  stable,  and  he  would  try  and 
catch  one  for  Bryda.  But  he  had  gone  off  on  a 
shooting  expedition  and  would  not  be  home  for 
days  and  days.  And  he  did  not  know  how 
lonely  Bryda  was. 

You  see  her  father  and  mother  had  gone 
abroad  a  fortnight  before  this  lonely  day,  and 
had  left  her  in  charge  of  grandfather  and  grand- 
mother. They  were  very  kind,  but  they  were  so 
old,  and  so  fond  of  going  to  sleep  in  their  chairs 
\\A\h  very  grave  books  before  them,  always  open 
at  the  same  place,  that  Bryda  thought  they  looked 
•  more  like  two  wax  figures  from  Madame  Tus- 
saud's,  put  one  on  either  side  of  the  fire  in  winter 
and  of  the  big  window  i]i  summer,  than  like  real 
people. 

Thej'  had  lived  so  long,  probabl}',  that  they 
could  not  care  much  about  anything.  If  you 
told  any  striking  piece  of  news  to  grandmother 
she  only  said,  '  Say  it  again,  my  dear.  I'm  a 
stupid  old  woman.  Sit  down  beside  me,  speak 
slowly,  and  always  remember  to  wipe  your  shoes 
on  the  mat." 

If  you  had  just  rushed  in  full  of  the  great 
news  that  the  robin's  blue  eggs  in  that  dear 
little  nest  by  the  garden  door  were  gone,  and 
four  gaping,  featherless  darlings  were  there  in- 
stead, you  felt  that  it  was  not  much  worth 
while  to  try  and  make  grandmother  enter  into 
the  delight  of  the  surprise.  And  when  you  had 
told  her,  she  would  only  say,  '  Very  nice,  my 
dear  ;  very  charming,  I'm  siire.  Now  run  out 
again,  and  don't  get  freckled.'  After  which 
she  would  smooth  do-^^-n  her  heavy  watered 
silk  gown,  and  doze  over  the  big  grave  book 
again. 

And  grandfather  was  worse.  He  had  long 
white  hair,  and  a  very  long  white  beard,  and 
busily  white  eyebrows  ;  so  that  there  were  only 
two  round  spots  on  each  cheekbone,  and  a  very 
narrow  strip  of  forehead — unless  you  included  his 
nose — on  which  to  Iriss  him,  without  burying 
your  face  in  white  hair  dusted  with  snuff.  For 
grandfather  took  a  great  deal  of  snuff,  and  if 
you — that  is,  if  Bryda — went  to  talk  to  him,  he 


G 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


■\Tfmld  say,  when  he  was  awake  enough  to  listen, 
'  Yes,  yes,  my  dear,  quite  so,  exactlj'  so.  Give 
nie  a  kiss,  my  dear  ;  give  me  a  kiss.  I  want  a 
.  bi  l:e  from  those  clierries  on  your  cheeks.' 

And  then  came  the  difficulty  of  kissing 
grandfather  (who  did  not  like  to  be  refused) 
without  kissing  the  white,  snuff-scented  beard, 
which  was  only  to  be  avoided  by  a  sudden  and 
rapid  peck  at  the  two  rosy  circles  on  his  cheeks,  or 
the  little  bits  of  forehead  between  the  long  locks. 

When  Bryda's  mother  v.'ent  away  her  last 
words  were, — 

'  Be  good  to  the  grannies,  my  darling,  and  do 
all  they  tell  you ;  and  don't  forget  father  and 
mother.' 

Here  the  mother'.s  voice  trembled  and  broke, 
and  she  got  very  quickly  into  the  carriage. 

Forget !  Oh,  no,  Bryda  could  not  forget.  And 
she  tried  '  to  be  good  to  the  grannies'  by  Ivissing 
grandfather  whenever  he  wished,  much  as  she 
disUked  the  operation,  and  trying  to  remember 
all  grandmother  said  about  dry  shoes,  and 
sitting  in  draughts,  and  eating  slowly,  and 
putting  on  pinafores,  and  various  other  little 
matters  we  are  all  familiar  with. 

Uncle  Jack  was  quite  different.  We  shall  hear 
more  of  him.  But  perhaps  the  house  was  a 
little  too  quiet  for  him,  he  was  so  often  away. 

The  dullness  did  not  matter  to  Cousin  Salome. 
She  lay  in  bed  all  the  morning,  and  was  carefully 
wheeled  into  a  little  sunny  sitting-room  in  the 
afternoon ;  and  there,  when  the  pain  was  not 
too  bad  (for  she  had  hurt  her  back  and  would 
never  be  well  again),  she  was  always  ready  to 
■welcome  Bryda  with  that  quiet  smile  on  her 
■white,  loving  face,  that  w'as  like  moonlight  on 
a  sea  that  sings  low  and  sadly  on  a  summer 
night. 

Uncle  Jack  was  away,  and  Cousin  Salome 
■worse,  and  the  governess  who  was  to  come  and 
teach  Bryda  had  not  arrived;  and  so,  as  we 
have  seen,  Bryda  was  veiy  lonely,  and  very 
much  in  want  of  a  kitten.  She  looked  herself 
rather  like  a  kitten  that  has  got  wet,  for  a 
kitten  never  looks  so  forlorn  as  she  did  unless  it 
is  quite  wet,  and  perhaps  muddy,  too. 

But  in  two  minutes  after  this  bright  idea 
had  struck  lier  Bryda  looked  much  like  the 
same  kitten,  when  it  has  been  dried  by  a  nice 
warm  fiiv,  and  fed  on  creamy  milk,  and  has 
licked  its   paws    and   washed  its   face,   and    is 


ready  for  the  next  ball  of  wool  that  some  one 
will  be  kind  enough  to  throw  ou  the  floor  for  it 
to  play  with. 

Gathering  some  ripe  summer  pears,  and 
hastily  stuffing  them  into  the  pockets  of  her  pin- 
afore, Bryda  hurried  off  to  the  sttble.  It  was 
locked,  but  the  key  was  in  the  door,  it  turned 
easily,  and  she  found  herself  as  she  entered 
rather  near  the  heels  of  the  fat  old  carriage- 
horses,  Gog  and  Magog.  But  they  would  not 
kick  ;  they  were,  or  seemed,  as  old  and  sleepy  as 
their  master  and  mistress.  Gog  in  particidar 
would  really  rather  be  stung  by  a  horse-fly  than 
take  any  particular  trouble  about  brushing  it 
away.  They  were  not  animals  suited  to  Bryda's 
taste,  however  much  grandmother  might  appre- 
ciate their  steady  ways.  They  were  Idee  those 
horses  of  whom  the  little  girl  in  the  poem  could 
find  nothing  more  interesting  to  tell  than  that 

'  The  tails  of  both  hung-  do-nm  behind. 
Their  shoes  were  on  their  feet.' 

And  John,  the  coachman,  was  as  fat,  and  old, 
and  lazy  as  they  were.  Altogether  the  family 
coach,  when  the  dear  old  folks  were  in  it,  was 
quite  a  curiosity.  They  went  for  a  short  drive 
every  day,  one  day  along  one  of  the  roads  out- 
side the  lodge  gates,  and  the  next  day  along  the 
other,  turn  about,  and  always  to  the  same  dis- 
tance, which  Uncle  Jack  called '  gomg  to  There  - 
and -back -again.'  Only  on  Sunday  they  went 
to  church,  which  was  a  very  short  way  indeed, 
only  just  outside  the  gates  in  fact,  and  on  that 
day  they  did  not  sleep  in  the  carriage  as  they 
did  on  the  other  six  days. 

But  if  Bryda  was,  as  a  treat,  taken  for  a 
drive,  it  really  was  a  little  dull.  Both  the 
grannies  went  to  sleep  and  nodded  so,  that  poor 
Bryda  was  really  afraid  their  heads  might  come 
off;  and  John  the  coachman  looked  as  if  he 
were  asleep ;  and  Gog  and  Magog  went  along 
at  such  a  slow,  solemn  trot,  that  they  might  well 
be  wallving  in  their  sleep,  too. 

So  Bryda  was  not  much  afraid  that  either  of 
these  grave  old  horses  would  take  the  trouble  to 
kick  her.  But  she  had  not  the  same  confidence  in 
Uncle  Jack's  high-spirited  hunter,  Paddy,  who 
lived  in  a  big  stall  with  a  bar  at  the  end,  called 
a  loose  box,  in  which  he  could  wall^  about ;  and 
now  he  put  his  handsome  head  with  the  wliite 
star  on  the  forehead  over  this  bar,  and  looked  at 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


Brytla  as  iitocIi  as  to  say,  '  What  business  have 
you  here  ? ' 

Next  to  Paddy's  loose  box  there  was  a  ladder, 
which  went  np  through  a  hole  in  the  ceiling  into 
the  loft  where  hay  was  kept,  and  where  Uncle 
Jack  said  kittens  lived. 

(To  6e  continues,^ 


TREASURE    TROVE. 

EAR  little  Trottie  toddled  out 
into  the  stable  one  morning 
to  talk  to  the  horses,  and 
William,  the  coachman  and 
gardener ;  and  there,  in  the 
empty  stall  among  the  nice 
clean  straw,  she  found  a  family 
of  dear  little  puppies.  Such  sweet  little  noisy 
things !  and  Hilda,  the  loving  old  mother, 
seemed  very  pleased  that  Trottie  should  fondle 
them,  and  admire  them  so  much,  for  she  ran 
round  and  round,  and  sniffed  as  each  little  one 
was  lifted  from  its  bed,  as  if  to  make  sure  that 
aione  were  carried  off. 

Dear  Hilda,  she  was  quite  happy  with  her 
■children  in  the  warm  corner  that  William  had 
given  her,  and  appeared  to  imderstand  that  as 
soon  as  the  little  dogs  would  be  old  enough  to  run 
about  they  would  become  the  favourites  of  the 
household. 


WHAT    WILL   YOU    GIVE   UP? 

MRS.   HARPER   called  her  four   bright 
little  children  to  her  one  day,  and  told 
them  a  sad  and  touching  story  of  distress. 

A  poor  woman  in  the  village  had  lost  her 
husband,  and  had  nothing  left  to  live  upon — 
and  five  children  1 

All  the  little  Harpers  were  very  sorry  when 
they  heard  their  mother's  tale. 

'  How  can  we  help  ? '  said  Janie,  the  eldest. 
'  We've  no  money  at  all.' 

Mrs.  Harper  smiled  and  said,  '  No  ;  you  have 
no  money  ;  but  if  you  would  like  to  give  up  some 
of  your  pleasures,  you  could  earn  some.' 

'  How,  mother?' 

'  You  might  give  up  having  sugar  in  your  tea, 
for  one  thing.' 

'  But  it's  so  nasty  without,  mother.' 

'  Well,  perhaps  you  can  think  of  something 
else.  All  of  you  go  into  the  garden  for  half  an 
hour,  and  come  and  tell  me  what  you  fix  upon.' 

Off  ran  Janie,  and  Harry,  and  Sybil,  and  wee 
Johnnie,  hand  in  hand,  and  walked  solemnly 
round  the  garden  for  just  half  an  hour.  W'hen 
the  clock  struck  twelve  they  ran  in  again,  helter- 
skelter. 

'  Well  ? '  said  their  mother. 

Janie  spoke : — 

'  We've  thought  of  everything  all  round, 
mother,  and,  if  you  please,  we  should  like  to 
give  up  our  lessons  1 ' 

But  tliat  mother  could  not  agree  to. 

E.  M.  L. 


MORNIN"G   PRAYER. 

A  LITTLE  child  was  kneeling. 
One  morning  bright  and  fair. 
She  loved  to  lisp  her  Father's  name, 

And  thank  Him  for  His  care. 
He  slumbers  not,  nor  does  Ho  sleep. 

Who  keeps  His  little  one 
Safe  through  the  hours  of  darkness. 

To  wake  with  morning  sun. 
And  then  through  all  the  coming  day 

She  loves  to  think  of  Him 
Who  for  her  sake  gave  His  dear  Son, 

Whose  blood  shall  cleanse  her  siu  ; 
And  keep  her  humble,  true,  and  mild. 
Her  Father's  happy  little  child. 

Joanna  McKeas. 


Sunday  Reading^  FOR  the  Young 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Yovnc. 


SaLombe  Days. 


10 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


her 


TWENTY  YEARS   AGO. 

[Concluded  from  page  3.) 

UT  tlisugli  twenty 

years      li  a  v  e 

Ijassed,  that  scene 

is  not  forgistten. 

With    one  silent 

thought     and 

cry   to    God  for 

help,    I    caught 

two   of   my    cousins    and 

called  out, — '  Don't  clutch 

each  other!    Here,  George  I 

Hariyl'    But  Harry  had 

already    pushed    Aunt 

Julia    towards    the   bank, 

so  that  Captain  Marldiam 

could  pull  her  out. 

It  was  such  confusion 
that  I  can  only  re- 
member getting  my  cou- 
sins safe,  and  then  calling 
to  Clara  to  hold  up, 
I  sprang  back   and  threw  my   arm   round 


Then  the  next  minute,  I  heard  George  cry 
frantically, '  One,  two,  three,  four,  five,  six,  seven, 
who's  the  eighth  ?  ' 

'Amy, — Where's  Amy?  Who's  seen  her?' 
Every  one  was  aghast.     Amy  gone  I 

It  was  but  a  moment's  pause,  and  then  there 
were  two  sf)lashes,  as  George's  friend,  Captain 
Markham,  and  myself  dived  head  first  into  the 
etream  together.' 

I  remember  nothing  more  until  I  felt  some 
•one  chafing  my  hands  and  limbs  ;  and  opening 
my  eyes  in  a  dazed  fashion,  I  asked,  '  Where  am 
I  ?  George,  Harry,  what  has  happened?' 

'  Thank  God  for  this  1 '  I  heard  a  voice  ;  and 
then  the  moonlight  faded,  the  trees  seemed  to  grow 
dim,  my  limbs  lost  all  feeling,  and  I  remembered 
no  more. 

That  was  an  eventful  night.  But  now  for  the 
sequel,  and  how  it  turned  the  current  of  my 
life.  God  was  very  merciful — none  of  us  were 
drowned,  though  two  of  us  had  a  very  narrow 
escape. 

Captain  Markham  dragged  Cousin  Amy  to 
the  bank  just  in  time,  and  in  a  very  few  minutes 
later   they  succeeded   in   rescuing  me,    already 


senseless  and  stiff  with  cramp,  as  it  turned  out 
afterwards. 

They  wrapped  me  in  shawls,  and  got  me 
home  as  fast  as  strong  arms  could  pull  in  the 
first  boat,  and  put  me  to  bed  ;  but  the  cramp  and 
chill  brought  on  an  illness  from  which  I  was 
long  in  recovering,  and  the  Palermo  steamer  went 
without  me,  for  at  the  time  she  sailed  I  was 
lying  in  bed  too  weak  to  move  ;  and,  alas !  more 
than  that  I  the  Government  could  not  keep  my 
appointment  open ;  it  was  filled  up,  and  my  suc- 
cessor went  in  my  berth  in  the  Palermo. 

A  fortnight  out  from  England,  she  went 
down  with  every  soul  on  board.  I  did  not 
know  this  till  long  after;  —  my  illness  had 
saved  my  life. 

It  was  many  months  before  I  was  able  to 
think  of  the  future, — before  they  ventured  to  tell 
me  of  God's  providence  in  keeping  me  at  home  ; 
and  in  the  meantime  my  uncle  had  taken  a 
small  house  at  Salcombe,  where  he  gathered  a 
family  party,  to  enjoy  the  fresh  sea  breeze,  and 
try  to  regain  the  health  and  spirits  some  of  us 
had  lost. 

It  was  very  pleasant  in  the  spring  sunshine, 
lying  in  a  sheltered  nook  on  the  beach  with  a 
book,  or  toying  with  the  pebbles  and  making 
ducks  and  drakes  on  the  wavelets  as  they  lapped 
the  shore,  while  almost  daily  excursions  were 
made  in  a  capital  boat  which  uncle  had  hired, 
together  with  the  services  of  a  couple  of  ex- 
perienced boatmen,  for  the  time  of  our  sojourn 
in  Salcombe. 

It  happened,  however,  that  my  spirits  \\-ere  not 
quite  equal  to  the  fishing  and  sailing  in  which 
the  others  indulged ;  and  often,  when  the  party 
were  shoving  off,  I  preferred  to  remain  with 
Clara  and  Amy  for  a  quiet  stroll  along  the 
shore,  or  a  few  chapters  of  whatever  book  was  in 
the  way. 

One  day  I  watched  them  off, — watched  th- 
two  men  while  they  launched  the  cutter,  and 
then  carried  the  whole  party,  big  and  little,  one 
by  one,  through  the  shallow  water  to  the  boat, 
for  it  was  dead  low  tide ;  and  when  they  had 
started  I  strolled  away  to  think — always  to  think 
and  think. 

Amy  was  sitting  under  the  lee  of  a  fishing- 
boat,  working,  as  she  always  was — workinf; 
something,  as  usual,  for  somebody  else,  not 
herself. 


Sunday  Reading  for  the'  Young. 


11 


I  could  not  pass,  so  I  sat. myself  clown.  I 
shall  not  tell  all  tliat  ^Yas  said,  but  tlie  con- 
versation was  something  like  this  :■ — 

Amy  remarked  how  strange  it  was  that  I 
never  went  with  the  others,  or  seemed  to  care  to 
bestir  myself. 

'  Strange  do  you  call  it '? '  said  I  ;  '  hardly  so, 
if  you  think  how  my  life  is  blighted — my 
appointment  lost,  pros].)ects  gone,  and  con- 
stitution ruined,  and  all  by  one  unfortunate 
accident.     I  think  it  very  hard  lines.' 

'Do  you?'  she  said  quietly;  'who  was  to 
blame '? ' 

'  Llame  I  no  one.    I  never  used  the  word.' 

'  But  you  are  surely  blaming  some  one  ;  if  none 
of  us,  God.' 

I  saw  what  she  meant,  and,  rebid^ed,  was 
silent. 

She  continued,  '  On  the  other  hand,  have  you 
never  thanked  God  for  saving  you  from  that 
fatal  voyage,  even  at  such  a  cost  ?  Oh,  Charliel 
life  has  been  very  difl'erent  to  me  since  that  night, 
when  we  were  both  so  nearly  drowned.  I  have 
learned  to  thank  Him  over  and  over  again  for 
it  all.' 

I  was  dumb.  I  saw  Amy  was  light.  Brave 
little  soul  I     She  went  on  : — 

'  Don't  you  think,  Charlie,  that  God  did  not  in- 
tend you  to  die  ?  Don't  you  think  there  is  a 
work  somewhere  in  the  world  He  wants  you  to 
do?  and  don't  you  think  He  w'ill  show  you  what 
it  is  if  you  ask  Him?     I  dol' 

'  I  never  thought  of  it  so,'  was  my  answer.  '  I 
never  thought  about  it  being  His  doing,  or  His 
will.     Perhaps  you  are  right,  Amy.' 

'Perhaps  I'  she  repeated  vei'y  solemnly.  'I 
never  did  understand  these  things  deeply,  but 
it  seems  to  me  so  many  of  our  troubles  come  from 
our  not  letting  God  do  just  as  He  likes  with  us  : 
we  want  to  carve  out  our  lives  our  own  way ; 
and  then  He  stops  us,  as  He  stopped  you  and  me.' 

'  I  see,'  said  I.  '  What,  then,  do  yoii  think  is 
my  lesson  ?  what  am  I  to  do  with  myself?  and 
what  is  my  future  to  be  ? ' 

'  Ah  1  that  I  cannot  tell ;  but  if  you  ask  God, 
He  will : ' 

I  said  no  more,  neither  did  Amy  ;  but  the 
silence  was  more  expressive  than  words.  God  was 
talking  to  us  both;  and  soon  we  rose  and  silently 
walked  side-by-side  to  the  house.  We  understood 
each  other. 


Twenty  years  have  passed  since  then,  twenty 
su]umers  have  come  and  gone  :  and  it  is  all  as^ 
yesterda)-. 

Am}',  dear  child  I  has  had  her  dearest  wish, 
and  she  has  gone  to  serve  Him  there.  Whom 
she  learned  to  cling  to  here.  For  ten  years  she- 
worked  among  the  crowded  poor  in  the  fevered 
dens  of  one  of  our  largest  cities,  sometimes  in 
hospitals,  sometimes  in  the  homes  of  vice  and 
want ;  but  always  and  everywhere  an  angel  of 
mercy,  sent  of  God. 

Then  the  frail  casket  which'  held  her  pure- 
spirit  broke,  and  released  the  jewel  it  had  held  r. 
the  seeds  of  delicacy,  sown  on  that  sad  night 
by  chill  and  wet  and  shock,  bore  fruit  in  the 
disease  which  her  life  of  self-sacrifice  fostered, 
and  before  those  who  loved  her  so,  suspected 
how  near  the  end  was,  she  was  gone. 

And  we  who  are  loft,  still  at  work  in  the- 
dear  Lord's  field,  some  of  us  have  learned  her 
lesson. 

He  answered  my  prayer,  and  showed  me  what 
there  was  for  me  to  do  ;  and  still  as  I  go  my 
daily  rounds  among  the  waifs  and  strays  of  the- 
gi-eat  city,  carrying  Christ's  message  of  pardon 
and  peace  to  the  benighted  ones,  hfe  has  a. 
different  meaning  for  me. 

I  seem  ever  to  have  the  scene  before  me :  I  stilf 
can  shut  my  eyes  and  hear  the  crashing  of  the 
boat,  and  feel  the  rush  of  water  in  my  ears ;  and 
then  I  hear  a  soft  voice,  long  since  stilled  in, 
death,  '  Don't  yon  think  God  did  not  intend  you 
to  die  ?  Don't  you  think  He  will  show  you  what 
your  work  is  if  you  ask  Him?'  Sigsa. 


EIGHT   GOLDEN  RULES. 

1.  Adhere  to  the  truth. 

2.  Engage  in  nothing  in  which  you  cannot 
ask  God's  blessing. 

3.  Never  speak  an  unkind  word. 

4.  Strive  to  forgive  as  you  ask  daily  to  be. 
forgiven. 

5.  Watch  against  anger,  and  the  like- 
pnssions. 

0.  Try  to  bo  pure  in  every  thought,  word, 
and  act. 

7.  Live  every  day  as  if  to-morrow  were- 
eternity. 

S.  Pray  that  you  may  bo  ready,  and  that  yoUi 
may  be  ready — pray'. 


12 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young 


SONG    OF    THE    FISHERMAN, 


Behold:  beiioia:  the  moon  is  up, 
It  shines  o'er  yonder  mountain, 
Its  tender  sheen  spreads  o'er  the  green. 

And  sparkles  on  the  fountain. 
It  is  the  hour  to  launch  our  bark 

And  speed  across  the  billows. 
Where  mermaids  play  amid  the  spray, 

And  make  the  waves  their  pillows. 
Awayl  away  I  the  moon  is  up, 

Its  light  is  all  surrounding. 
Across  the  foam,  afar  from  home. 

Our  bark  should  now  be  bounding;  1 


Behold  I  behold  I  the  moon  is  up, 

The  stars  are  faintly  shming, 
And  far  away  each  beam  of  day 

Is  rapidly  declining. 
The  shades  of  night  now  gather  round, 

And  point  with  warning  finger, 
'Tis  time  that  we  were  on  the  sea, 

We  may  no  longer  linger. 
Away!  away',  the  moon  is  up. 

Its  light  is  all  surrounding, 
Across  the  foam,  afar  from  home, 

Our  bark  should  now  be  bounding  I 

Edward  Oxekfoed. 


MIXED    PICKLES. 

(Contimtedfrom  2}age  7.) 

CAREFULLY  closmg  the  stable  door, 
Bryda,  with  her  heart  certainly  beating 
unusually  fast,  climbed  the  ladder  without  stop- 
ping to  think,  what  grandmother  would  say,  and 
was  soon  up  in  the  loft — a  delightful  place,  with 
a.  raftered  roof,  and  little  windows  with  sprays 
of  ivy  pushing  their  way  in,  as  if  to  remind  the 
ecented  hay  that  it  ouce  grew  outside,  and  was 
called  green  grass. 

It  was  a  nice  place !    and,  oh,  joy !   from  a 


dark  corner  came  the  soxmd  Bryda  longed  for,  a 
Idtten's  '  mew  1 '  It  was  not  the  voice  of  an  elderly 
cat,  but  the  plaintive  little  '  mew  '  of  a  kitten  ; 
and  Bryda,  as  she  went  towards  the  sound, 
could  see  a  pair  of  very  round,  bright  eyes. 
Carefully,  not  to  frighten  the  little  creature,  she 
went  towards  it :  but,  alas  I  kittens  born  in  lofts 
are  apt  to  be  wild  and  shy,  and  in  spite  of  all  her 
coaxing,  'Pussy.  Pussy  I  Come  here.  Puss!' 
the  round,  bright  eyes  went  further  off,  and 
finally  the  kitten  took  refuge  in  the  darkest 
corner  of  all.  But  Bryda  was  not  going  to  be 
beaten  by  a  kitten.      Treading  carefully   and 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young: 


13 


slowly,  she  came  nearer ;  one  step  more  and  she 
would  reach  the  soft  furry  thing.  Another 
moment  and  it  was  in  her  arms ;  and  Bryda, 
dehghted,  sat  down  on  a  heap  of  hay  and 
hugged  it,  saying,  '  Now,  Kitty,  let's  pretend.' 
"VMiat  fun  the  games  are  that  begin  '  Let's 
pretend  ! '  ^^Tiy,  we  can  all  he  kings  and  queens, 
judges  and  lords  chancellor.  We  can  grow  up  in 
two  minutes  into  happy  people,  who  do  no 
lessons,  and   can  order  exactly  what  they  like 


ijie  messenger,  a  pear  should  he  the  goose. 
Bryda  had  just  read  this  story  in  her  English 
History.  Hay  makes  a  capital  throne ;  Bryda 
piled  one  up,  and  had  just  sat  down  wth  much 

dignity,  when 

Have  you  ever  heard  people  say,  when  some- 
thing awkward  happened,  they  would  Uke  to 
go  through  the  floor '?  Poor  Bryda  did  I  She 
suddenly  tumbled  right  tlirough  the  scattered 
hay, — right  through  the  ceiling  1 


for  dinner  every  day,  and  need  not  go  to  bed  at 
the  dreadfully  early  hour  we  young  folks  must. 

Then  merely  to  eat  a  pear  is  so  dull  I  Grown 
people  have  parties  to  amuse  them  at  dinner, 
the  very  dogs  growl  and  jilay  with  their  bones, 
and  the  cats  act  a  httle  pilay  over  every  mouse 
they  catch. 

So  Bryda  would  be  Queen  Elizabeth  seated 
on  a  throne,  dining  off  goose  on  that  Michaelmas 
Day  when  the  news  came  of  the  defeat  of  the 
great  Spanish  Armada.     The  kitten  should  be 


She  was  not  really  hurt,  only  a  little  bruised 
after  all ;  for  she  had  fallen  into  a  sort  of  deep 
cage  with  strong  wooden  bars,  in  which  hay 
was  pushed  down  from  the  loft,  and  the  bottom 
of  this  cage  was  inside  the  loose  box,  close  to 
the  manger.  So  that  the  first  thing  Bryda 
knew,  when  she  recovered  herself  enough  to 
look  ,  round,  was  that  Paddy  was  standing 
looldng  at  her,  and  seemed  very  much  sur- 
prised; as  well  he  might  be,  for  little  girls 
were  not  generally  kept  in  the  loft  along  with 


14 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


tlie  hay,  or  poked  into  liis  stall  for  him  to  malce 
his    dinner  off. 

In  fact  it  is  very  lilcely  that,  if  she  had 
only  known  it,  the  big  beautifnl  creature  was 
much  more  afraid  of  her  than  she  of  him. 

Indeed  she  was  very  much  afraid,  and  grew 
more  and  more  frightened  as  the  horse,  finding 
she  did  not  move,  came  a  few  steps  nearer,  and 
then  began  snnffing  at  her.  If  she  were  to  try 
to  climb  into  the  loft  again,  whicii  did  not  seem 
very  easy,  he  might — he  probably  would — bite 
her  long  black  legs. 

It  would  not  be  very  easy  to  climb  into  the 
loft  either ;  the  cage  was  so  very  deep.  What 
was  the  unfortunate  child  to  do '?  Paddy  kept 
on  sniffing  at  her  too,  the  real  reason  being  that 
he  could  smell  the  pears  in  her  pinafore  pocket. 
Bryda  could  smell  them  too,  and  a  bright  idea 
struck  her.  She  remembered  a  fairy  tale  about 
a  princess  who  softened  the  hard  heart  of  a  lion 
by  feeding  him  with  cake.  Perhaps  this  nice 
juicy  fruit  wo\ild  have  the  same  good  effect  on 
Paddy.  Perhaps,  too,  while  he  was  eating  it 
she  might  escape.  Cautiouslj-  she  drew  one 
out,  and  it  went  into  the  horse's  big  mouth  as  a 
gooseberry  would  have  gone  into  her  own,  and 
was  as  quickly  swallowed.  That  was  a  bad 
])lan ;  he  wanted  more  at  once.  The  next  she 
throw  on  the  ground  ;  and  while  Paddy  stooped 
his  sleek  curved  neck  to  pick  it  up  she  made  a 
desperate  effort  to  escape. 

In  vajn  1  Hardly  had  she  risen  from  her 
cramped  position  and  made  a  struggle  to  got 
her  hands  up  to  the  floor  of  the  loft,  when  the 
bright  eyes  and  big  mouth  were  back  again,  and 
dreadfully  near  her  legs ! 

'Oh,  don't  1  doiit!  Paddy'.'  cried  Bryda. 
'  Here,  you  may  eat  all  my  pears,  but  really  I 
know  I  should  not  taste  nice ;  so  please  don't 
bite  me  1 ' 

The  remaining  pears  were  soon  gone ;  but 
when  they  had  come  to  an  end  the  difficulty 
still  remained,  and  Paddy  could  not  be  brought 
to  see  that  he  could  have  no  more  simply  because 
there  were  no  more.  So  he  sniffed  and  sniffed, 
poking  his  nose  more  and  more  between  the 
bars,  and  showing  those  dreadful  teeth.  He 
only  wanted  pears ;  but  Bryda  grew  perfectly 
wild  with  fright,  and  finally,  when  Paddy 
actually  touched  her  hand  with  a  hot  nose, 
she  could  bear  it  no  longer,  but  gave  first  one 


w'lhl  shriek  and  then  another,  and  another,  till 
the  spirited  horse,  terrified  by  the  noise,  plunged 
about  in  the  loose  box,  adding  still  more  to  her 
dismay;  and  even  Gog  and  Magog  pricked  up 
their  ears,  and  looked  round,  as  if  they  would 
say,  '  Please  don't  spoil  our  digestion  by  this 
dreadful  screaming.' 

To  Bryda's  joy,  however,  the  stable-door 
opened,    and    old    John    tottered    slowly    in. 

'  Oh,  John  I  John  I  save  me  1  don't  let  me  be 
eaten  up  I'  miplorcd  Bryda,  as  soon  as  she  saw 
him  ;  while  Paddy  became  more  composed,  and 
stopped  prancing. 

Old  John  scratched  his  head :  that  was 
natural.  Then  he  very  deliberately  walked  to- 
wards the  ladder,  muttering, — 

'  Well,  I'm  blessed  if  this  'ere  ain't  the 
rummiest  go  ever  I  seen  I ' 

Which,  you  will  observe,  was  not  the  sort  of 
English  one  finds  in  the  Dictionaries ;  but  then 
John  was  born  before  the  days  of  School  Boards. 

'Oh,  John!  make  haste  I'  cried  Bryda  again. 

But  really  it  was  a  terribly  long  time  before 
John  climbed  the  ladder  and  gave  his  hands- 
to  the  frightened  child,  who  was  soon  safe  on 
the  floor  of  the  loft. 

'  Be  you  hurt,  miss  ? '  asked  old  John,  looking 
at  lier  as  if  she  were  a  china  figure  that  might 
have  lost  an  arm  or  a  leg  in  the  fall. 

But  Bryda  was  not  hurt;  only  she  trembled 
from  head  to  foot,  and,  after  thanking  John,, 
turned  away  and  walked  with  a  grave  face  into- 
the  garden  again  and  to  the  foot  of  the  old  sun- 
dial. 

The  shadow  had  only  moved  on  half  an  hour. 
Bryda  tried  to  hold  her  -hand  in  such  a  w-ay  as^ 
to  make  another  shadow,  that  should  come- 
fm'ther  over  the  dial.  But  that  was  a  bad  imi- 
tation of  the  real  thing,  and  made  her  think  of 
one  evening  when  Uncle  Jack  had  told  her, 
with  such  a  serioijs  face,  to  take  a  candle,  and 
go  to  see  the  time  by  the  old  sun-dial ;  how  she- 
had  actually  gone,  and  had  only  remembered 
when  she  got  there  that  the  sun  was  in  bed, 
and  therefore  could  not  tell  her  what  she  wanted 
to  know. 

Up  the  pillar  on  which  stood  the  dial  two 
very  large  snails  were  crawling — oh,  so  slowly  1 
They  seemed  to  go  even  more  slowly  than  tho 
long,  hot  hours. 

How  amusing  it  would    be    to    make    thoia 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


15 


run,  or  rather  cra-\^-],  races '. 
Brytla  gathered  a  uice  fresh 
Isaf,  and  put  it  at  one 
edge  of  the  dial.  Then  she 
started  tlie  two  snails  at  the 
other  end,  and  for  the  next 
iiour    or   so  was 


happy  watching  them,  and  starting  them  again 
and  again. 

IJut  at  the  end  of  that  time  the  biggest  and 
fattest  gave  up  the  game  in  disgust,  finding  he 
never  could  enjoy  his  leaf  quietly  when  he  had 
got  it,  because  a  giant  hand  always  came,  and 
would  put  him  back  at  the  starting-place. 

So  he  drew  in  his  horns  first,  and  then  went 


bodily. iuto  his  house, 
which    those    gentle- 
men   conveniently 
carry  on  their  backs. 
There  he  sulked,  and 
would  come    oiit    no 
more;  so  Bryda  threw 
him  into  a  cab- 
bage -  bed    and 
went  indoors. 

Bryda  had 
so  many  funny 
ways  of  amu- 
sing herself,  that 
Uncle  Jack, 
who  was  very 
fond  of  making 
III  jokes,  declared 
she  'lived  in  a 
jar  of  mixed 
pickles.'  In- 
deed, these  same 
amusements 
often  ended  by 
becoming  small 
scrapes,  which 
he  called  Lryda's  pickles ;  and  we  shall  see  that 
they  were  of  all  sorts,  and  really  '  mixed.' 

None  are  very  wise  at  eight  years  old,  and 
many  of  us  are,  like  my  little  Bryda,  very 
anxious  to  do  right  and  be  of  some  use  in  the 
world.  So  we  will  follow  her  as  she  goes  into 
the  house. 

(To  be  continued.) 


MARION'S    GEESE. 


MAEION'S  geese  would  not  be  good. 
Every  morning  they  required  letting 
out  of  the  poultry-farm,  and  as  sure  as  evening 
came  round  some  would  be  missing,  or  some 
would  try  to  escape  being  shut  up  by  hiding  in 
the  farmyard  or  among  the  stacks. 

Marion  herself  used  to  get  very  angry.  'I 
can  do  nothing  with  the  nasty  things,'  said  she, 
'  and  I  have  a  good  mind  to  beat  them,  and  see 
what  that  will  do.' 

However,  it  never  came  to  beating.  The 
birds  were  a  little  stubborn,  and  would  hiss  and 
cackle  at  Marion's  little  sister  Ruth,  who  shrank 
from  them,  half  frightened  at  their  dreadful  noise ; 


but,  as  geese  go,  they  were  not  worse  than  the 
average.  All  day  long  they  amused  themselves 
by  clipping  tlie  short  herbage  of  the  common  that 
bordered  the  farm,  and  at  evening  waddled  back 
in  stately  procession  to  the  yard-gate,  to  be  fed 
and  put  to  bed. 

.  Never  was  there  such  a  hissing  and  gabbling 
as  when  there  was  no  food  thrown  down  i-eady 
for  them ;  then,  indeed,  Ruth  stood  a  chance  of 
being  gobbled  up.  But  as  the  summer  days 
drew  ou  she  grew  bolder  and  more  fauuliar,  and 
was  able  to  help  sister  Marion  a  great  deal  with 
her  poultry,  until  Marion  used  to  say  she  did 
not  know  what  she  should  do  without  her. 


16 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young 


Marion's  Geese. 


SuNDA  r  Reading  for  the  Young. 


17 


Mrs.  Bladiie's  Visitors. 

D 


13 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


A  CAT  STORY. 

FOR    VERY    LITTLE    CHILDREN. 

BEAUTIFUL  large 
gray  cat  was  sit- 
ting before  the 
Idtclien  fire,  but 
with  lier  back  to- 
wards it,  so  that 
she  could  keep 
watch  over  her 
two  kittens,  who 
were  at  play  un- 
der the  table. 

They  had  got 
the  cook's  new 
reel  of  cotton 
down  on  the  floor, 
and  were  having 
such  fun  with  it  1 
Sometimes  they 
would  pretend  it 
was  a  mouse,  and 
then  they  would 
crouch  down  and 
look  at  it  very  fiercely,  just  as  they  had  seen  their 
mother  do,  and  at  last  spring  upon  it  all  of  a 
sudden.  And  away  would  roU  the  reel,  and  away 
they  went  after  it ;  and  the  cotton  kept  winding 
itself  round  the  legs  of  the  table  and  chairs  imtil 
it  got  into  such  a  tangle  that  I  don't  know  what 
poor  cook  would  say  wheu  she  came  to  see  it.  , 
But  now  the  cat  called  them  to  her.  '  Child- 
ren,' said  she,  '  Mrs.  Blackie  has  asked  mo  to 
supper,  and  she  says  I  may  take  you  with  me.' 

'  Oh,  mother  1 '  screamed  both  the  kittens,  and 
they  turaed  on  their  backs  and  kicked  up  their 
for  joy. 
'  Ahl  but  you  must  behave  very  nicely.  You 
mustn't  put  your  paws  in  the  milk,  and  you 
mustn't  take  the  best  pieces  out  of  Mrs.  Blackie's 
mouth,  as  you  do  out  of  mine.' 

'No,  mother.  We  will  be  very  good  httle 
kittens  indeed.' 

'  Then  come  and  let  me  make  you  tidy.'  So 
then  their  mother  washed  them  carefully  all 
over,  and  when  they  were  quite  ready  she 
thought  she  had  never  seen  two  sweeter  kittens 
than  those.  Then  she  just  gave  a  finishing 
touch  to  her  own  beautiful  white  chest,  and  they 
all  set  01  It. 


little  leg 


BIrs.  Blackie  lived  three  doors  off,  so  they  had 
not  far  to  go ;  but  it  seemed  to  the  kittens  a  long 
way,  and  very  dangerous,  for  it  was  all  on  the 
top  of  high  walls;  and  when  at  last  their  mother 
jumped  down,  they  were  afraid  to  follow  her : 
but  she  turned  and  looked  up  at  them,  and 
mewed  so  gently  to  encourage  them,  that  at  last 
they  ventured,  and  came  scrambling  down  in  a 
great  fright,  but  not  a  bit  hurt. 

There  was  Mrs.  Blackie,  sitting  on  a  nice 
green  grassplot,  with  a  lilac-tree  in  the  middle  ; 
and  under  the  tree  was  a  large  saucer  full  of 
milk,  and  by  its  side  were  some  delicious  her- 
ring heads,  which  scented  all  the  garden,  and  a 
plateful  of  scraps  besides. 

Mrs.  Blackie  was  a  very  kind,  good-natured 
old  cat,  with  beautiful  shining  black  fur  all  over, 
except  her  feet,  which  were  white,  and  the  tip  of 
her  nose  and  the  tip  of  her  tail,  which  were  white 
too. 

She  made  her  visitors  sit  down  and  eat  heartily 
of  all  the  good  things  she  had  prepared  for  thenv 
and  scarcely  ate  a  bit  herself,  so  that  there  might 
be  plenty  for  them. 

At  first  the  two  kittens  were  very  quiet,  and 
only  looked  about  them;  but  presently  they  for- 
got, and  began  to  tumble  about  as  they  did  at 
home. 

Then  their  mother  said,  ' Children  1  children!* 
but  Mrs.  Blackie  only  laughed,  and  told  them  ta 
go  and  have  a  good  run  on  the  gravel. 

So  away  they  scampered,  for  the  autumn 
wind  was  blowing  the  dry  leaves  aU  about,  and 
it  was  capital  fun  to  rush  after  them,  and  to 
leap  up  into  the  air  and  catch  them  between 
their  paws. 

When  they  were  tired  of  this  they  ran  races 
round  and  round  their  mother,  and  finished  by 
jumping  on  the  top  of  her  back  as  she  sat 
gravely  talking  with  her  friend. 

'  Now,  children,  say  good-bye,  and  thank 
Mrs.  Blackie  for  her  kindness.' 

'  Oh,  mother ! '  said  Popsy,  the  gray  kitten, 
'  do  let  me  catch  my  tail  first  I'  And  off  she  set, 
spinning  round  so  fast  that  you  could  scarcely 
see  where  her  head  was. 

'You  silly  child!'  said  her  mother.  'Come 
home  with  me,  and  learn  how  to  catch  a  mouse. 
There  will  be  some  sense  in  that.' 

'  And  there's  very  good  practice  in  this,'  said 
Mrs.  Blackie.     '  Must  you  go  ?  ' 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


19 


'  Yes.  I  give  them  a  lesson  in  mousing  every 
evening,  and  now  it  is  just  time." 

'  Oh,  let  the  poor  things  enjo}'  themselves. 
They'll  catch  mice  fast  enough  by-and-by.' 

But  the  old  cat  shook  her  head.  So  they  all 
said  '  Good  night,'  and  the  little  kittens  and 
their  mother  went  home. 

'  I  heard  cook  scolding  about  a  mouse  in  the 
pantry  this  morning,'  said  the  mother,  '  so  we 
will  go  and  watch  that  little  hole  behind  the 
door.  Mmd  you  don't  stir,  or  make  the  least 
noise,  but  do  exactly  what  you  see  me  do.' 

Then  Popsy  sat  down  opposite  her  mother, 
iind  imitated  her  so  well  that  she  looked  just  like 
&  very  tiny  old  cat. 

But  "VYopsy,  the  black  kitten,  was  cross, 
and  would  not  look,  but  kept  walking  about, 
and  at  last  sat  down  with  his  back  to  the 
mouse-hole. 

'  You  foolish  fellow  I '  whispered  liis  mother, 
■*  how  can  you  see  the  mouse  if  you  sit  so  ?  ' 

'  Well,  Mrs.  Blackie  said  you  ought  to  let  us 
«DJoy  ourselves,'  grumbled  the  cross  kitten.  But 
he  didn't  turn  round. 

'  Hush  I '  whispered  the  old  cat ;  and  for  a 
long  time  not  a  word  was  spoken. 

They  sat  watching — watching — watching — 
until  at  last  two  bright  little  eyes  showed 
themselves  at  the  hole  in  the  wall. 

A  little  mouse  wanted  to  come  out  and  look 
for  some  crumbs  for  her  young  ones'  supper. 
But  her  mother  had  taught  her  never  to  come 
out  of  the  hole  without  first  looking  to  see  what 
was  outside.  So  when  she  looked  all  round,  and 
saw  the  old  cat  and  her  kittens  ready  to  spring 
upon  lier,  pop  !  her  head  went  back  again  into 
her  safe  hole,  and  she  lauglied  to  see  how  disap- 
pointed old  Puss  looked. 

Are  you  not  glad  the  poor  little  mouse  was 
not  hurt? 

But  Pussy  was  not  naughty  for  trying  to 
catch  her,  because  cats  are  made  to  catch  mice  ; 
iind  if  they  did  not  catch  them  we  should  soon 
have  so  many  that  they  would  eat  up  all  our 
bread  and  cheese. 

'  Come,  children,'  said  the  old  cat,  '  it's  no 
use  to  stay  any  longer.  She  won't  come  out 
again  to-night.'  And  they  all  three  walked  into 
the  Ivitchen,  and  settled  themselves  comfortably 
on  the  rug  before  the  fire. 

[Concluded  in  our  next.) 


PLEASE! 

HE  who  can  please  nobody  is  not  half  so 
much  to  be  pitied  as  he  whom  nobody 
can  please. 


EVERYBODY'S    CORNER. 

CHAUMING  A  RATTLESNAKE. 

)OST  of  US  have  heard  of  ths 
Indian  jugglers  and  snake- 
charmers  ;  but  it  is  not  often 
that  a  vs'hite  man  has  the 
opportunity  of  testing  the  mu- 
sical tastes  of  serjients.  A 
famous  traveller,  however,  relates  the  following 
anecdote. 

'  Uue  day  a  rattlesnake  entered  our  encnmp- 
ment.  Among  us  was  a  Canadian,  who  could 
play  the  ilute,  and  who,  to  amuse  us,  marched 
out  with  his  music. 

'  On  his  apprcich  the  rattlesnake  curled 
himself  into  a  spiral  line,  with  flattened  liead, 
inflated  cheeks,  and  sliowiug  his  venouied  fangs, 
while  his  tongue  flashed  like  fire,  and  his  body, 
swollen  with  rage,  rose  and  fell  like  the  bellows 
of  a  forge,  and  his  tail  vibrated  with  the  utmost 
rapidity. 

'  Tlie  Canadian  began  to  play  upon  tlie  flute, 
when  the  snake  seemed  struck  with  surprise,  and 
drew  back  his  head ;  as  the  magic  notes  flowed 
on,  his  eyes  lost  their  fierceness,  the  rattle 
became  weaker,  the  circles  of  the  erect  body 
sank  one  after  another  to  the  ground,  and  his 
skin  regained  its  bright  colours  of  green  and 
gold,  while  with  head  on  one  side  he  remained 
motionless  in  an  attitude  of  pleasure. 

'  The  amateur  charmer  then  made  a  few  steps 
in  advance,  still  playing  a  few  sweet  and  simple 
notes. 

'  The  reptile,  inclining  his  beautiful  scaly  neck, 
opened  a  passage  with  his  head  through  the  high 
grass,  and  crept  after  the  musician,  stopping 
when  he  stopped,  and  beginning  to  glide  forward 
as  soon  as  he  advanced. 

'  In  this  fashion  he  was  led  out  of  the  camp, 
attended  by  a  great  number  of  savages  and 
Europeans,  who  could  scarcely  believe  their 
eyes,  which  beheld  this  wonderful  power  of 
harmony.' 


20 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


MIXED     PICKLES. 

(Continued  from  p.  15.) 
CHAPTER  II. A  PRINCESS. 

COUSIN    SALOME   would   see  lier  now, 
and  so  Bryda  went  to  tte  invalid's  room. 
'  You  look  very  miserable,  darling,'  said  tlie 
soft  voice  compassionately,  as  Bryda,  after  Irissing 
lier  cousin,  stood  looking   dolefully  out  of  the 
window. 


said  Cousin  Salome,  smiling,  and  drawing  the 
little  girl  nearer  to  her.  '  Tell  me  what  was  the 
last  piece  of  mischief.' 

Bryda  told  all  about  her  adventure  with 
Paddy,  and  ended, — 

'  Oh,  Cousin  Salome,  I've  nothing  to  do  1' 

'  That's  the  beginning  of  all  mischief,  I  am 
afraid,  darling.  Do  bees  and  birds  get  into 
mischief?     Not  they,  they  are  too  busy.' 

'  Well,  I  would  make  honey  or  a  nest  if  I 


'  I  am  very  miserable,  Cousin  Salome,'  she 
answered,  feeling  that  she  had  good  cause  for 
misery. 

'  Very  miserable,  when  you  can  run  about 
and  be  out  of  doors  with  the  sunshine  and  the 
birds  and  the  flowers  I     There  must  be  some- 
thing veiy  bad  the  matter.     Come  and. tell  me 
all  about  it.' 

Bryda  knelt  by  the  couch,  a  little  ashamed  of 
herself.  Cousin  Salome  might  well  be  miserable, 
so  ill  that  she  could  never  again  hoije  to  walk 
in  the  sunny  scented  garden. 

'  It's  easy  for  you  to  be  good,  I  suppose, 
cousin,'  she  said.  'You  lie  here  all  day  and  don't 
find  any  mischief  to  get  into.' 

The  last  words  were  said  as  if  mischief  was  a 
sort  of  thing  that  came  to  you,  and  asked  you  to 
get  into  it, — in  the  same  way  as  roast  pigs  run 
about  in  the  fairj'  countiy,  holding  out  a  knife 
and  fork  and  crying,  '  Eat  me,  do  1  please  ! ' 

'  So  mischief  is  the  cause  of  the  great  misery  I' 


knew  how,'  said  Bryda,  laughing.  '  If  I  could 
paint  a  pictm'e  like  this,  I  should  be  quite 
happy.' 

Cou.sin  Salome  had  been  painting.  She  could 
only  do  a  little  at  a  time,  and  that  with  difficulty ; 
but  she  had  dra\A'n  a  very  beautiful  figure  of  a 
young  girl  in  a  rich,  old-fashioned  dress,  sitting 
bj'  an  ojien  window,  through  which  could  be  seen 
a  great  plain  and  a  large  town  some  way  off. 
The  girl's  face  was  full  of  wonder,  and  rather 
sad,  and  she  looked  away  at  the  sunset  sky,  as 
if  she  were  thinking  of  something  very  puzzling. 
Brj'da  took  up  the  jncture  and  looked  at  it. 

'  That  is  Princess  Isabel  of  Montenaro ;  she 
is  doing  what  vou  are  doing  now.  Bryda. 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young\ 


21 


'  What  I  am  doing,  cousin  ? ' 
Yes ;  wondering  what  slie  ought  to  do.  Do 
you  see  the  \.q\w\  beyond  the  green  park? 
That  was  her  father's  capital,  and  a  dreadful 
siclmess  broke  out  there,  so  that  people  died  by 
hundreds.  Bnt  the  King  was  a  hard-hearted 
man,  and  spent  the  days  in  feasting  and  him  ting, 
and  paid  no  heed  to  the  people's  sufferings.' 

'Oh,  do  tell  me  the  story!'  cried  Bryda, 
eagerly. 

Cousin  Salome  smiled. 

'  The  story,  as  I  have  it,  is  in  verse.  You 
would  not  hke  that,  Bryda  ? ' 

'  Oh,  yes,  yes  \  Please  read  it.' 

'Can't  you  read  it  yourself?'  asked  Salome, 
slily. 

'  Oh,  no  ! '  with  great  energy.  '  Eeading  is 
quite  different  from  being  read  to.  Why,  the 
story  tastes  quite  ten  times  nicer  when  you  Usteu 
to  it ! ' 

So  Cousin  Salome  opened  a  book  thatjlay 


near,  and  began  to  read  in  her  gentle,  tired  voice^ 
the  story  of  the  little  picture  she  had  painted  of 
the  Princess  Isabel. 

'  ISABEL. 

'  The  Princess  sat  in  her  stately  bower ; 

The  shadows  grew  deeper  on  vale  and  liiU 
The  vesper  bells  through  the  twihght  hour 
Eang  softly,  but  she  sat  silent  still. 

Her  jewelled  fingers  were  closely  twined. 
Her  brow  was  clouded  with  discontent ; 

She  sat  alone  while  the  day  declined, 

And  soft  winds  of  eventide  came  and  went. 

In  her  father's  hall  there  is  mirth  and  song. 
The  hearts  of  the  high-horn  throng  are  glad ::. 

But  siu-ely  to-night  there  is  something  wrong. 
The  fairest  and  blithest  sits  lone  and  sad. 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


In  the  hush  of  twilight  she  raised  her  head ; 

Her  eyes  were  full  of  a  troubled  light, 
Like  the  e3'es  of  one  who  beholds  the  dead 

And  who  fain  would  follow  the  spirit's  flight, 

\      Aloud  she  spoke  in  the  silent  room, 

Of  all  her  maidens  not  one  was  near ; 
But  a  marble  Christ,  in  the  deepening  gloom, 
Seemed  to  bend  a  compassionate  face  to  hear.' 

And  for  many  more  verses  the  soft  tones  of 
'■Cousin  Salome's  voice  soothed  tlie  childish 
•spirit. 

'  Thank  j'oia,'  said  Bryda,  and  drew  a  long 
breath  when  the  story  was  finished.  She  had 
perhaps  not  understood  it  all,  hut  one  thing  was 
•clear. 

'  The  Princess  was  never  idle.  Cousin  Salome. 
-So  I  expect  she  never  got  into  mischief.  But 
I  don't  think  it  was  nice  for  her  to  have  no 
playtime.' 

'  She  could  wait  for  her  playtime,  dear,' 
.{inswered  Cousin  Salome,  gently.  '  She  would 
•enjoy  it  all  the  more,  perhaps,  becau^se  she  had 
worked  so  hard.' 

The  sick  lady  turned  a  little  and  looked  out 
:at  tlie  quiet  evening.  Noisy  rooks  were  flying 
home  to  roost,  meek  cows  slowly  walking  off  to 
he  milked ;  on  a  large  tree  a  peacock  and  his 
two  wives  were  settling  themselves  for  sleep. 

Bryda  looked  out  of  the  window,  too. 

'  I  think  the  stars  are  afraid  of  the  great  big 
sun.  Cousin  Salome.  Do  you  see^  the  way  they 
first  poke  out  their  heads,  and  look  to  sec  if  he  is 
really  gone,  and  then  come  right  out  to  do  their 
little  shining  ? ' 

Cousin  Salome  laughed,  and  the  deep  lines  that 
sickness  had  written  seemed  to  grow  fainter,  and 
make  her  face  younger  and  rounder. 

'  Their  little  work-time  is  jirst  beginning. 
They  look  as  if  they  came  out  smiling,  with 
clean  bright  faces,  ready  to  do  as  they  are 
bidden.' 

'  Poor  Cousin  Salome  I '  said  Br3'da,  stroking 
;the  thin  white  hand  that  lay  weak  and  idle  on 
ithe  soft  coverings.  '  You  can't  work  or  play 
either.  You  must  be  very  unhappy.  I  should 
he: 

'  When  I  was  your  age,  darling,  I  built  myself 
grand  castles  in  the  air.  Oh,  how  many  nice 
•things  I  meant  to  do  when  I  grew  up  I  But  I 
was  given  a  different  sort  of  work,  a  much  harder 


one  to  me,  dear  child, — the  work  of  doing  nothing 
patiently.' 

Bryda  looked  sorely  puzzled. 

'  Never  mind,'  went  on  Cousin  Salome.  '  You 
are  not  set  to  that  work,  Bryda,  nor  to  a 
great  work  like  Princess  Isabel's.  Just  now 
you  will  find  there  are  plenty  of  little  works 
ready  for  you  to  do,  little  crumbs  to  make  a 
great  loaf.' 

'  Picking  up  grannie's  stitches  when  she 
drops  them?'  asked  Bryda.  Grandmother's 
knitting  was  often  in  that  sort  of  state. 

'  That  may  be  one  thing.  There  are  plenty 
more.  Shall  I  tell  you  an  old  German  story, 
about  the  use  of  httle  things?' 

'  Once  upon  a  time  some  people  lived  in  a 
plain,  at  the  edge  of  which  there  was  the  sea. 
They  lived  here  long  and  happily  ;  but  one  sad 
day  the  sea  began  to  rise  and  overflow  the  plain, 
creeping  every  day  a  little  nearer  the  prosperous 
village. 

'  So  the  people  were  sorely  frightened,  and 
tried  to  build  earthworks  ;  but  the  sea  washed 
away  at  night  what  they  had  done  in  the  daj'. 

'  These  were  days  very  long  ago,  when, 
according  to  the  old  stories,  God  would  answer 
men  from  heaven  when  they  called  to  Him. 

'  So  the  people  prayed  and  asked  God  to  send 
them  His  great  Angels,  that  they  might  make 
hiUs  for  them  to  protect  their  homes  and  fields 
from  the  dreadful  waters. 

'But  God  answered,  "]My  Angels  have  already 
their  work,  they  cannot  help  you  in  this.  But 
to-morrow,  at  sunrise,  I  will  send  to  you  an  army 
of  My  labourers;  they  shall  make  you  sand- 
hills." 

'  So  the  villagers  were  very  glad,  and  next 
morning  they  rose  early,  before  the  sun,  won- 
dering much  what  sort  of  labourers  these  would 
be. 

' "  Perhaps  the  happy  spirits  of  our  fathers 
will  come  back  to  help  us ;  perhaps  men  from 
the  south  country — a  kind  and  friendly  people — 
will  be  sent  to  work  for  us.     Perhaps " 

'  But  all  their  wonder  was  in  vain,  and  it 
was  changed  to  surprise  and  dismay  when, 
as  the  sun  rose,  they  saw  coming  swiftly  from 

the  east  an  army  of what  do  you  think 

Bryda  ?' 

'  Lions  and  tigers  ? '  asked  Bryda,  with 
wide-open  eyes  ;  '  elephants  ?  people  ?  giants  ? 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


23 


'  No,  indeed ;  neither  great,  strong  animals, 
nor  clever  men,  but  hundreds  and  hundreds  and 
thousands  of  antsl' 

'  Ants,  cousin  ?     What  use  would  they  be  ?  ' 

'  You  shall  hear.  Each  ant  carried  one  grain, 
or  what  seemed  to  be  one  grain,  of  sand.  On 
and  on  they  came,  and  the  ground  was  quite 
black  with  their  hosts.  The  people  looked,  and 
gradually  their  munnurs  grew  to  one  great  roar 
of  discontent.  But  God's  little  labourers  paid 
no  attention.  They  had  their  Master's  will  to 
do,  and  so  long  as  that  was  done  they  cared  for 
neither  the  praise  nor  the  blame  of  His  other 
creatures.  So  all  day  long  they  worked,  each 
little  ant  carrying  his  Httle  load  ;  and  when  the 
sun  set  there  ■^vas  a  great  line  of  sand-hills,  so 
high  that  no  waves  could  wash  over  them,  so 
thick  that  no  storm  could  break  them  down, 
between  the  happy  villagers  and  the  sea.' 

'  Then  the  people  stopped  grumbling,  I 
suppose.' 

'  We  will  hope  so.  And  perhaps  they  learned 
that  God  can  use  the  smallest  things  to  do  His 
work  with.  The  little  ants  were  as  useful  in 
their  way  as  the  noble,  unselfish  Princess  Isabel. 
Now,  dear,  I  am  getting  very  tired;  will  you 
sit  quietly  and  look  at  pictures,  or  run  away  and 
see  the  grannies  ? ' 

Bryda  chose  the  pictures,  and  sat  as  still  as 
a  mouse  in  the  window,  looking  first  at  a  picture 
and  then  out  of  the  -uindow,  and  saying  to  her- 
self that  she,  too,  would  be  of  some  use. 
(To  he  continued.) 


MAXIM    OP    CONFUCIUS. 

From  the  Chinese. 

PONFUCIUS,  visiting  the  Go- 
vernor of  a  distant  province, 
found  him  in  the  company  of  a 
yoking  lord,  whom  he  had  taken 
into  his  favour,  and  who  was  re- 
markable for  his  handsome  appearance. 

The  Governor  said,  laughingly,  to  the 
philosopher,  '  Confucius,  if  features  could 
be  exchanged,  I  would  give   you  wil- 
lingly those  of  my  friend  here.' 
'  Witli  your  permission,'  replied  the  sage,  '  I 
would  refuse  the  gift,  for  this  outward  beauty  is 
of  no  use  to  the  world  at  large.' 

'  What  do  you  wish,  then  ? '  continued  the 
Governor. 

'  I  should  like  to  see  in  all  the  members  of  the- 
Empire,'  said  Confucius,  '  that  just  proportion 
of  right  and  honest  principle  which  makes 
the  glory  of  true  government,  and  prevents  the- 
body  of  the  State  from  being  deformed.' 


TRUE    RICHES. 

A  DYING  Christian,  in  a  far  land,  made  his 
will,  and  in  it  were  the  following  words : — 
'  I  have  now  disjiosed  of  all  my  property  to  my 
family.  One  thing  more  would  I  give  them,  that 
is  the  Christian  faith.  If  they  had  that,  and  I  had 
not  given  them  a  shilling,  they  would  be  rich  ;. 
and  if  they  have  not  that,  and  I  had  given  them 
all  the  world,  thej'  would  be  poor.' 


O' 


kVER  the  sea 

Are  lands  that  we  would  like  to  see. 
The  countries  where  scented  oranges  grow, 
And  the  breezes  of  the  south  winds  blow ; 
These  are  the  lands  we  would  like  to  know. 
Over  the  sea. 


OTHER  LANDS  ACROSS  THE  SEA. 

Over  the  sea 
Are  lands  we  might  not  like  to  seo, 
'VSTiere  the  Ice-king  reigns  through  a  long,  dark 

night; 
For  six  dreary  months  there  is  no  simlight ; 
With  the  wild  birds'  cry  in  their  homeward  flight,. 
Over  the  sea. 


Over  the  sea 
Are  lands  that  we  would  like  to  see, 
Where  the  birds  with  plumage  so  bright  and 

gay,        _     .  _ 
Like  a  flash  of  light  in  the  sun's  bright  I'ay 
Dance  and  quiver  the  livelong  day, 
Over  the  sea. 


Over  the  sea 
Are  lands  we  might  not  like  to  see, 
^Miere  the  ground  lies  white  under  wreaths  of 

snow. 
And  the  stormy  gales,  and  the  cold  winds  blow. 
In  the  lands  that  we  might  not  like  to  know. 
Over  the  sea.        .,.  ,r  t- 

JOANXA  iAlclVEAN. 


-24 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


Lookino-  across  the  Sea. 


SuxDAV  Readixg  for  the  Yol'xg. 


25 


.Ni,     i^^|V 


(^     11 


ii;ir,'R.«r_^-. 


(1    7-^  ^^>^  -^ 


'V,/^.'    i,  !'/    ,1 


The  Cli  Cat's  story. 

E 


2G 


SuA'DAV  Reading  for  the  Young. 


her 


A     CAT      STOKY. 

(Concluded  from  p.  19.) 

?ELL  me,  now,  what  made 
you  so  naughty  ?  '  asked  the 
old  cat,  looking  at  her  black 
kitten. 

Wopsy  turned  his  head  this 
way  and  that  way,  and  winked 
his  eyes,  and  pretended  not  to 
hear.  But  he  knew  very  well 
that  his  mother  was  looking  at 
him,  and  that  he  must  answer 
and  at  last  he  said,  in  a  very  low  tone, 
'  I  was  idle.' 

'  Ah  I '  said  the  old  cat,  '  I  remember  I  was 
idle  too  once — a  long  time  ago.' 

'Were  you,  mother?  Do  tell  us  all  about 
it.' 

'  It  was  when  I  was  a  beautiful  dark  gray 
kitten,  with  bright  blue  eyes  and  a  snow-white 
chest,  and  as  full  of  fun  as  you  are.' 

'  Then  I  must  be  very  pretty  too,  mother, 
because  you  know  I  am  just  like  you,'  remarked 
Popsy,  looking  very  pleased. 

'  Well,'  said  her  mother,  '  perhaps  you  are. 
But  hear  what  came  of  it.  People  made  a  great 
fuss  with  me  because  of  my  beauty,  and  because 
of  my  blue  eyes,  which  very  few  cats  have.  And 
when  I  was  able  to  eat  meat  they  took  me  away 
from  my  poor  mother  and  put  a  smart  red  collar 
on  my  neck,  and  shut  me  up  in  a  basket,  and 
sent  me  as  a  present  to  little  Miss  Minnie,  the 
Squire's  daughter.  Oh,  how  I  cried,  and  strug- 
gled to  get  out  I  And  how  frightened  I  was 
when  they  did  take  me  out,  and  I  found  my- 
self in  a  large,  grand  room,  with  two  noisy  boys 
shouting  and  trying  to  catch  me,  and  no  dear 
mother  to  run  to  1 

'  But  soon  a  gentle  little  voice  called  "  Pussy  ! 
Pussy  1  Kitty  1  Kitty  !  no  one  shall  hurt  you. 
Do  let  me  catch  you,  there's  a  dear  little  kitten  1" 
'  Then  I  stood  still,  and  Minnie  ijicked  me  up 
and  laid  me  in  her  lap,  and  stroked  me  and 
kissed  me,  till  I  began  to  feel  comforted. 

'  She  w"as  a  very  kind  little  mistress  and  never 
teased  me  or  hvu-t  me,  but  she  petted  me  so 
much  that  I  became  very  idle  and  dainty. 

'  And  sometimes,  when  visitors  came  to  the 
house,  she  would  say,  "  Did  you  ever  see  a  cat 
with  blue  eyes  ?  "     And  when  they  said  "  No," 


she  would  run  upstairs  to  the  nursery  to  fetcli 
me.  And  then  the  peo[)le  would  say.  "Oh, 
what  a  beauty !  Oh,  what  a  love  I  Did  you 
ever  see  such  a  darling  little  kitten  '?  " 

'  This  made  me  feel  so  proud  that  I  used  to 
think  I  was  the  finest  cat  in  all  the  world,  and 
when  nurse  beat  me  off  ^Minnie's  bed  I  used  to 
say  to  myself,  "  Disagreeable  old  thing  I  "  and 
as  soon  as  her  back  was  turned  I  used  to  jump 
on  again. 

'  I  had  not  any  work  to  do,  not  even  to  keep 
myself  clean,  for  Minnie  kept  a  soft  brush  and  a 
comb  in  a  little  bag,  and  every  morning  and 
every  evening  she  used  to  comb  and  brush  me 
all  over. 

'  So  I  just  walked  about  in  the  sunshine,  or  lay 
before  the  fire,  and  got  u])  and  yawned  and 
stretched  myself,  and  ate  my  food  and  lay  down 
again. 

'  But  I  was  so  proud,  that  if  any  one  except 
Minnie  touched  me  I  would  put  out  my  talons 
and  scratch  them.  So  nobody  loved  mo  but 
Minnie. 

'  When  nurse  was  very  cross,  indeed,  Minnie 
used  to  sing, — 

"  If  you  jiunp  in  my  lap 

Nvu'se  will  give  you  a  slap, 
And  say  you  should  keep  in  your  place : 

For  cats  that  are  nursed, 

She  say.9,  are  the  worst, 
And  won't  look  a  mouse  in  the  face." 

'  One  day  I  heard  nurse  say,  "  She's  a  good-for- 
nothing  creature  !  She  never  does  anything  for 
her  living  I  I  don't  believe  she  knows  how  to 
catch  a  mouse." 

'  "  Let's  try  her,"  said  Mary,  the  housemaid. 

'  "  Very  well,"  said  nurse.  Then  she  took  down 
my  darling  Minnie's  garden  cloak  from  its  peg, 
and  before  I  had  time  to  think  what  she  was 
going  to  do  she  had  smothered  me  up  in  it, 
head  and  a;;.  ^"  kicked  and  screamed,  and  stmck 
out  my  sharp  talons,  but  they  could  not  go 
through  the  thick  cloth,  and  nurse  and  Mary 
only  laughed  the  louder  the  more  I  tried  to  get 

OlTt. 

'  The}-  ran  downstairs  with  me  into  the  larder, 
tossed  me  out  of  the  cloak,  and  locked  the  door 
upon  me  for  the  night. 

'  Oh,  how  angry  I  was  I  But  I  knew  it  waa 
of  no  use  to  cry  out,  for  Minnie  was  not  at  home. 
She  ^^•as  staying  with  her  aunt.     And  nobody 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


27 


else  in  the  lioiise  cared  one  bit  about  me,  because 
I  had  always  been  so  cross  and  disagreeable. 

'  jVs  I  sat,  very  cold  and  sorrowful,  a  nice 
smell  seemed  to  come  just  across  my  nose.  I 
began  to  wonder  what  it  was  and  to  snitf  about 
all  round. 

'  There  was  scarcely  any  light  in  the  larder,  but 
there  was  just  enough  for  me  to  see  something 
hanging  up  over  my  head.  I  jumped  on  a  shelf. 
The  nice  smell  was  stronger  there.  I  jumped  on 
a  higher  shelf,  and  stretched  out  my  paw  to  feel 
what  it  could  be  that  was  hanging  up).  It  was  a 
bird : 

'"Ah,  ]\[rs.  Nurse'."  thoughtl;  "  whata  nice 
supper  I  shall  have!"  And  I  sprang  at  it  in 
such  a  hurry  that  we  all  came  tumbhng  down 
together.  But  I  was  not  hurt.  And  a  fine 
supper  I  made  on  two  plump  birds,  picking  a 
little  bit  out  of  one  and  then  of  the  other,  until 
I  could  not  eat  any  more. 

'Then  I  felt  very  sleepy;  so  I  looked  about 
till  I  found  in  one  corner  a  sack  of  flour,  which 
riiade  a  beautiful  soft  bed. 

'  Next  moi'ning  I  was  awakened  by  a  sharp 
voice  calling  out,  "  "Where  is  she  '?  The  wicked 
creature  I  If  she  hasn't  been  and  eaten  up  both 
the  partridges  I  And  do  just  look  at  my  jioor 
cake ! " 

'  It  was  the  cook.  She  might  well  Lie  vexed, 
for  she  had  some  friends  coming  to  tea  that 
evening,  and  now  there  would  bo  no  cake.  The 
mice  had  eaten  it  nearly  all  up  while  I  had 
been  fast  asleep  on  my  comfortable  sack. 

'"Didn't  I  tell  you  so?"  said  nurse.  "  I  knew 
she  couldn't  catch  a  mouse — not  she!" 

'  Then  they  all  scolded,  and  called  me  names. 
I  tried  to  steal  out  at  the  door,  but  they  caught 
me  and  gave  me  such  a  beating  ! 

' "  Now  Miss  Minnie's  away  let's  got  rid  of 
her,"  said  nurse.  "  She's  always  in  my  way 
upstairs." 

'  "  Very  well,"  said  the  housekeeper.  "  I'll  tell 
missis  what  a  dreadful  thing  she  is,  and  then 
she  won't  be  angry.  I  know  where  to  get  a 
pretty  white  kitten  for  Bliss  Jlinnie,  that  she'll 
love  better  than  this  one." 

'  "  Oh,  no  !  oh,  no  !  "  I  mewed  :  "  don't  send 
me  away  from  my  dear  mistress  I  I  will  be  good ! 
I  will  be  good  !  "  But  they  didn't  understand 
mewing. 

'  So  I  was  sent  away  to  a  poor  cottage,  where 


the  children  teased  me  and  hurt  me,  and  where  I 
had  so  little  to  eat  that  I  was  glad  to  catch  a 
mouse  now  and  then,  or  even  a  black-beetle  to 
make  u]3. 

'  One  day  the  clergyman  called  there,  and 
noticed  me,  p,nd  patted  me,  and  praised  my  blue 
eyes. 

'  "  You  shall  have  her,  sir,  if  you  like,"  said  the 
woman. 

'  "  Thank  you.  But  is  she  a  good  mouser'?  for 
my  house  is  overrun  with  mice." 

'  "  Oh,  j'cs,  sir  ;  that  she  is." 

'  "  Then  I  shall  be  very  pleased  to  have  her. 
I  will  take  great  care  of  her." 

'  That  is  how  I  came  here.  I  soon  cleared  the 
house  of  mice,  and  now  there  is  scarcely  one  to 
be  seen.  Bly  master, has  been  very  kind  to  me. 
^Yhen  you  were  born  he  gave  me  a  nice  hamper, 
lined  with  warm  carpet,  for  your  nursery, 
and  let  me  have  it  in  one  corner  of  his  study,  so 
that  nobody  should  tease  us.  And  he  lets  me 
sit  on  the  table  in  the  sunshine  when  he  is 
writing,  and  if  he  is  ever  so  busy  he  always 
finds  time  to  give  me  a  stroke  of  the  hand  and  a 
kind  word.  And  I  always  know  which  is  hi? 
plate  after  dinner,  for  he  is  sure  to  leave  me  some 
nice  little  bits  on  it.  But  be  sure  you  never  go 
up  into  the  bedrooms  or  into  the  drawing-room, 
for  that  makes  him  angry.' 

The  old  cat  stopped,  and  both  the  kittens 
thanked  their  mother  for  her  nice  story,  and 
Wops}',  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  said  he  was  very 
sorry  he  had  been  naughty.  So  then  she  kissed 
them  both,  and  they  all  three  cuddled  close  to- 
gether and  went  fast  asleep. 

IlAItUIET    PiiCKER. 


HUMAM"    KIITDNESS. 

ALPHONSUS,  the  king  of  Naples  and 
Sicily,  justly  celebrated  in  history  for  his 
leniency  and  mercy,  was  once  asked  why  lie  was 
so  lenient  to  all,  even  the  most  wicked  men. 

'  Because,'  said  he,  '  good  men  are  won  by 
justice,  the  bad  by  mercy.' 

On  another  occasion  some  complained  that  ];e 
was  too  kind,  even  for  a  prince. 

'  What  then,'  cried  the  King, '  would  yott  have 
lions  and  tigers  to  I'eign  over  you  '?  Do  you  not 
know  that  cruelty  is  the  property  of  wild  beasts, 
mercy  that  of  man  ? ' 


28 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


CHINESE    THERMOMETER. 

A  MISSIONARY,  writing  home  from  China, 
says  that  the  Chinese  use  very  Httle  fire, 
and  measure  cold  by  the  thickness  of  jackets. 
Three  jackets'  cold  is  moderately  cool  :    six 


jackets'  cold  is  keen ;    and  from  ten  to  fifteen 
jackets'  cold  is  extremely  severe. 


NO    RETURN. 

A  WORD  and  a  stone  thrown  away  do  not 
return. 


HAPPY    SUNDAY    AFTERNOONS.— No.  I. 
WHAT  DOES    THE    BIBLE   SAY  ABOUT    OXEN? 
An  easy  Exercise  for  little  learners  to  write  or  say  from  memory. 


OXEN    IN    THE    BIBLE. 

THE  references  to  Oxen,  under  the  different 
names  of  cattle,  bull,  heifer,  are  common 
in  the  Bible.  There  were  domestic  cattle,  large 
herds  of  which  formed  the  riches  of  the  pa- 
triarchs, Abraham,  Isaac,  and  Jacob. 

They  were  used  in  agriculture,  as  by  Elisha  ; 
and  for  sacrifices,  as  by  Elijah. 

Among  ancient  nations  cattle  were  used  as 
money,  by  way  of  barter :  hence  the  word 
'  pecuniary,'  from  pecus,  the  Latin  word  for 
'ox;'  and  when  Jeroboam  led  the  people  into 
idolatry  it  was  under  the  form  of  a  golden  calf 
that  he  set  up  the  idol,  imitating  the  Egyptians, 
who  worshipped  a  sacred  bull. 


EVEN    KINGS    MUST    WORK. 

ALFEED  THE  GEE  AT  wiU  ever  be  re- 
membered as  one  who,  in  days  when 
learning  and  literature  were  rare  things  even 
among  the  nobles,  raised  himself  to  the  front  rank 
of  those  who  devoted  themselves  to  such  arts  and 
sciences  as  were  then  known. 

In  his  childhood  he  was  not  a  brilliant  scholar, 
he  had  even  reached  his  twelfth  year  before  he 
had  learned  his  alphabet ;  but  he  had  the  energy 
and  determination  which  in  after  life  made  him 
'  the  great.' 

His  mother  one  day  showed  her  little  sons  a 
small  book,  illuminated  in  various  places  with 
coloured  letters  and  beautiful    borders,  such  as 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


29 


were  tlien  in  fnsliion  ;  and  seeing  that  tliey 
admired  it  verj'  greatly,  she  promised  she  would 
give  it  to  the  boy  who  should  iirst  learn  to 
read  it. 

Alfred,  though  the  youngest,  was  the  only  one 
who  had  spirit  enough  to  attempt  the  conditions. 
He  immediately  sought  out  a  teacher,  and  in  a 
very  short  time  was  able  to  claim  the  promised 
reward. 

In  after  years,  when  he  came  to  the  thi'one,  in 
spite  of  all  the  duties  he  had  to  perfomi,  and  a 
painful  disease  which  scarcely  allowed  him  an 
hour's  rest,  he  employed  all  his  spare  time  in 
reading  or  hearing  the  best  books. 

He  invented  a  method  of  measuring  time  by 
candles,  marked  off  in  divisions  to  burn  an  exact 
time ;  he  laid  the  foundation  of  the  English  Navy 
by  bi;ilding  ships  of  war,  and  so  great  was  his 
regard  for  the  best  interests  of  the  people  that  he 
established  a  code  of  laws,  so  just  and  bene- 
volent that  they  are  the  groundwork  and  basis  of 
the  laws  by  which  justice  is  administered  in  the 
present  day. 

Even  kings,  like  Alfred  the  Great,  cannot  do 
their  duty  without  labour.  .iElfrida. 


MIXED     PICKLES. 

{Coiitiimed  from  p.  23.) 
CHAPTER  III. ANOTHER  DREADFUL  SCRARE. 

HE  next  morning  Bryda  was 
awakened  by  a  strange  sound 
from  her  pleasant  morning 
sleep. 

Her  window  was  partly 
open,  but  something  struck 
against  the  upper  sash ;  it 
was  not  a  bird  that  had  lost  its  wa}',  nor  a  wasp 
come  to  look  for  jam.  for  as  Bryda  raised  her 
head  something  that  could  only  be  a  handful  of 
light  gravel  or  shot  struck  the  window  again, 
and  at  the  same  time  a  clear,  shrill  whistle 
sounded  outside. 

Bryda  hastilj'  sprang  up.  One  does  not  care 
much  about  dress  at  nine  years  old,  so  in  white 
nightdress  and  dark  twisted  hair  she  fearlessly 
put  her  head  out  of  the  window,  and  saw,  to  her 
delight,  her  cousin,  Maurice  Gray,  a  boy  some 
two  years  younger  than  herself,  with  his  queer, 
ugly,  little  Scotch  terrier,  Toby,  standing  on  the 


lawni.  She  need  not  be  sad  for  want  of  a  play- 
mate to-day. 

'  Get  up  and  dress,'  cried  Maurice.  '  Aren't 
you  ashamed,  my  Lady  Lie-in-bed  ?  Come 
out  directly  ! ' 

Bryda  did  not  need  a  second  invitation.  A 
very  short  time  indeed  passed  before  she  was  by 
Maurice's  side. 

His  father  had  brought  him  over,  he  said  ; 
his  father  wanted  to  see  grandfather  about  some 
business,  so  he  had  started  off  very  early. 
Maurice  was  dreadfully  hungry,  and,  as  the 
grannies  never  breakfasted  till  ten.  he  and  Bryda 
each  got  a  thick  slice  of  bread  and  jam  from  the 


good-natured  cook,  and  then  went  off  to  the 
garden,  Bryda  running  races  with  Toby,  who 
mostly  had  the  best  of  it — you  see  he  had  four 
legs  to  Bryda's  two. 

They  went  to  the  vinery  and  acted  a  little 
play,  which,  however,  wanted  a  few  more  actors 
sadly.  It  was  so  puzzling  for  Bryda  to  be  both 
the  imprisoned  princess  and  the  ogre  at  once  : 
and  when  Maurice,  the  valiant  knight,  slew 
Toby  for  a  dragon,  and  stejiped  ov?r  his  corpse 


80 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


(or  wonld  have  done  if  Toby  had  been  a  little 
more  dead,  and  not  run  away  .every  other 
minute),  it  got  really  puzzling,  and  it  was  well 
that  the  hreaki'ast-bell  rang  at  that  moment. 

Breakfast  was  rather  a  long,  dull  affair. 
Uncle  James,  Maurice's  father,  explained  to 
grandfather  a  great  deal  about  a  drainage 
scheme,  and  grandmother  every  five  mi)mtes 
asked  her  maid,  Martha,  who  stood  behind  her 
chair,  to  tell  her  what  it  was  all  about,  which 
Jlartha  had  to  do  in  very  loud  whispers  over 
and  over  again. 

Maurice  and  Bryda  were  very  glad  to  run 
out  again,  with  special  directions  from  grand- 
mother to  Iceep  off  wet  grass,  and  not  get 
into  mischief.  This,  they  thought,  could  not 
possibly  hnppen.  This  time  they  rambled  into 
the  farm-yard.  Bryda  would  not  look  for  more 
kittens,  but  tried  to  make  friends  with  some 
small  balls  of  fluff,  which  meant  some  day  to 
be  turkeys.  At  one  corner  of  the  yard  was  a 
deep  tank,  or  little  pond,  full  of  a  dark-brown, 
rather  thick  fluid,  which  was  used  in  the  garden 
and  fields,  and  had  a  great  effect  in  the  way  of 
making  things  grow.  Bryda  and  her  cousin 
stood  looking  at  it. 

'  I  declare,'  said  Bryda,  '  it's  like  the  Styx  I' 

'  I  don't  see  any  sticks,'  said  ignorant 
Blanrice,  who  had  never  learned  that  the  old 
lieathens  believed  the  souls  of  dead  people  went 
in  a  ferry-boat  across  a  dark  river  called  the 
Styx,  and  that  the  old  man  who  rowed  the  boat 
was  called  Charon. 

Bryda  thought  it  would  be  capital  fun  to  act 
this  little  scene.  Certainly  the  treacle-coloured 
stuff  in  the  pool  looked  nasty  enough  to  do  very 
well  for  this  dark  river. 

As  to  Maurice,  he  was  younger  than  his 
cousin,  and  when  they  were  together  she  always 
invented  the  games,  althougli  he  had  been  to 
school  already,  and  thought  girls  generally  were 
very  little  use. 

So  when  Bryda  explained  what  she  wanted  to 
do,  he  only  said  that  he  did  not  know  how  to 
act  a  story  that  he  had  never  heard ;  to  which 
Bryda  only  answered  (piietly,  and  as  if  it  were 
a  fact  no  one  could  think  of  doubting  for  a 
moment,  '  You  don't  know  anything  about  any- 
thing, Jlaurice.  Sit  down  there — no  1  not  on 
a  cabbage,  but  on  the  wheelbarrow — and  I  ^'\ill 
tell  you  all  about  it.' 


So  she  told  him  the  story,  in  the  middle  of 
which  the  wheelbarrow  upset,  because  Maurice 
laughed.  So  he  sat  on  a  log  of  wood,  and 
Bryda  picked  up  the  wheelbarrow,  got  into 
it,  and  began  in  the  words  of  one  of  her 
lesson-books,  with  a  little  alteration  to  suit  the 
occasion. 

'  Friend  I  Roman  I  Countryman  1  bnd  me 
your  ears  I      I   am   Charon ' 

'  What  ? '  asked  Maurice. 

'  Don't  spoil  my  speech  !  You  may  only  say 
"  Hear,  hear  I  "  as  they  do  in  Parliament.' 

'  But  suppose  they  don't  w-ant  to  hear  V  ' 

Bryda  had  no  notion  of  what  they  would  do 
under  such  unlikely  circumstances  ;  so,  after 
thinking  a  little,  she  merely  said,  '  Don't  be 
silly,  Maurice  I '  and  that  sort  of  answer  puts  an 
end  to  any  argument  quite  easily. 

'  This  is  my  dog  Cerberus,  with  three  heads,' 
went  on  Bryda,  pointing  to  Toby. 

'  My !  what  a  lot  of  bones  he  would  eat  I ' 
said  his  master. 

Bryda  suddenly  jumped  down  from  her  ratter 
unsteady  pulpit. 

'  Oh  1  we  will  have  fun  !  Here,  Maurice,  put 
on  my  white  pinafore.  You  shall  be  a  ghost, 
and  I  will  get  into  the  tub  with  my  dog 
Cerberus,   and  ferry  you  over  in  it.' 

'  It  won't  hold  two,'  said  jMaurice,  looking 
rather  doubtfully  at  the  rotten  tub  Avhich  BrycUx 
pushed  into  the  filthy  waters,  making  a  splash 
and  a  most  horrible  smell  as  it  went  in. 

'  Oh,  ghosts  don't  want  much  room  I  Now, 
Cerberus,  in  you  go  1 '  and  in  the  poor  dog 
went,  hastily  and  ungracefully  ;  being,  in  fact, 
thrown  in  head  foremost. 

After  one  howl  he  resigned  himself,  and  lay 
down  at  the  bottom  of  the  tub,  into  which  un-  ■ 
steady  boat   Bryda,  armed  with  her  own  small 
spade,  followed  with  JMaurice's  help. 

Having  balanced  herself  by  crouching  down, 
so  as  to  bring  the  centre  of  gravity  to  the  right 
place,  she  proceeded  to  paddle,  or,  as  she  called 
it,  to  row  with  the  little  w'ooden  spade,  splashing 
a  good  deal,  and,  of  course,  making  the  tub 
turn  round  and  round,  and  wriggle  very  un- 
comfortably in  the  pool. 

'Well,  it  doesn't  matter,'  said  Charon,  giving 
up  in  despair,  and  looking  very  red  in  the  face. 
'  We  can  piretend  I  crossed  the  Styx  to  fetch 
you.     Now  I  must  speak  to  the  soul  in  Latin, 


SowDAY  Reading  for  the  Young. 


31 


Lecanse,  of  course,  Charon  and  Cerberus  talked 
Latin  always.' 

'I    suppose    Cerberus  barked  in   Latin — all 
three  mouths  at  once,'  said  Blanrice ; 
'  what   a,  horrid   row   it   must   have 
been !' 

'  Now  talk  away,"  said  Eryda. 

•  But  we  don't  know  Latin ;  I've 
only  just  begun 
at  7j/V,  li(Tc,linc' 

'  That  doesn't 
matter  ;  we 
must  make  it 
up,  of  course. 
If  w-e  put '  us ' 
or  '-o '  at  the 
end  of  every 
word,  it  will 
sound     exactly 


like  the  stuff  Cousin  Eonald  learns.    Now :  Poor- 
iis  soul -us.  do-us  you-us  want-o  to  cross  over-o?' 
'  Yes-o,'  replied  -Maurice,  promptly. 

•  Thcn-us    come-o oh  I 

oh  I '   screamed  Bryda,  making- 
the  last  word  very  long  indeed ; 
for  she  trod  on  the  one  tail  of 
the  dog  Cerberus,  causing  that 
remarkable  animal  to  jump  up 
howling.    Cha- 
ron's ferry-boat 
was  not  built  to 
allow  of  athletic 
sports  on  board, 
so  it  went  over, 
and  Bryda  went 
in. 
(To  he  continued.) 


WHAT  LITTLE   THINGS  AND  LITTLE  FOLKS  CAN  DO. 


LITTLE  flakes  of  snow,  soft  fallmg 
Through  all  the  night. 
Cover  all  tlie  groiuid  quite  over, 
Thick  ami  white. 

Little  stars  so  brightly  shining 

In  heaven's  high  dome, 
!May  lead  some  weary  traveller 

To  rest  and  home. 

Little  seeds  dropped  in  the  earth, 

That  look  quite  dead, 
With  breezj  and  sunny  shower  soon  lift 

A  tiny  head. 


Stroke  after  stroke  of  sharpened  axe 

On  the  thick  bough 
\Yill  bring  its  lofty  head  soon  down. 

And  lay  it  lov\". 

The  sunny  breeze  that  fills  the  sail. 

And  gently  fl(jats, 
INIay  change  into  the  gale,  that  wrecks 

A  fleet  of  boats. 

And  little  cMldren  good  and  true 

Make  home  so  bright. 
With  little  deeds  of  kindness  done. 

That  keep  hearts  light. 

JoAX^'A  MoKean. 


BURIED    BUT    NOT    DEAD. 

A  BULBOUS  root,  found  in  the  hand  of  one 
of  the  mummies  discovered  in  the  great 
]-)yramid  of  Egypt,  was  placed  in  the  earth,  and 
it  grew  into  a  beautiful  plant,  and  bloomed, — o, 
wondrous,  unknown  flower, — after  having  lain 
buried  out  of  sight  for  long  centuries. 

So  good  deeds,  and  holy  influences,  though 
long  hidden,  will  in  God's  time  bear  fruit  for 
heaven. 


AN  ARAB'S  RESPECT  FOR  BREAD. 

THE  Arabs  have  the  greatest  respect  for 
wheat  in  any  shape.  If  a  little  morsel  of 
bread  falls  to  the  ground  the  Arab  will  take .  it 
with  his  right  hand,  kiss  it,  touch  his  forehead 
with  it,  and  place  it  on  a  wall  or  branch,  where 
the  birds  may  find  it.;  for  they  say,  '  We  must 
not  tread  under  foot  the  good  gift  of  God ; '  and 
every  one,  in  every  station,  Moslem  and  Christian, 
unites  in  showing  reverence  for  bread. 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


ARK  !  the  railway  bell  is  clanging, 
Trucks  are  rolling,  doors  are  banging 
Voices  loud. 
Oil,  how  different  the  feeling, 
']\Jidbt  the  rushing  and  the  reeling, 

Of  the  crowd '. 

Happy  children,  home  returning. 
New  released  from  school  and  learning  ; 

Oh,  what  bliss ! 
Ah !  what  hand  can  paint  the  blessing 
Of  the  loving,  fond,  caressing 

Mother's  kiss '? 


To  a  death-bed  some  are  flymg, 
summoned  where  the  sick  are  lying. 

By  that  be 
^^nd,  in  spite  of  hope's  wild  flutter, 
btill  to  them  it  seems  to  utter, — 

'Tis  a  laiell  I 


Siiunds  far  different  from  that  wail 
Are  borne  out  upon  the  gale. 

From  village  tower ; 
'Tis  the  call  to  prayer  and  praise, 
In  the  peaceful  summer  days. 

At  morning  hour  1 

And  again  at  evening  time, 
How  the  curfew's  plaintive  chime 

Strikes  the  ear  1 
And  the  sheep -bells'  tinkling  sound 
Comes  across  the  verdant  ground, 

Sli.up  iiud  clear! 


In  the  heavy-ladened  wain. 
As  it  rolls  along  the  lane 

'Neath  the  moon, 
Sound  the  waggoner  will  sleep. 
Whilst  the  jingling  horse-bells  keeji 

Their  cheerful  tune. 

But  if  they  should  stop  or  stay 
Once  upon  the  tedious  way. 

His  sleep  is  o'er ; 
When  the  ringing  of  the  team. 
Like  a  fairy-bell  in  dream. 

Sounds  no  more. 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


33 


y    ^ 


BELLS. 

HAEK !  the  mule-bells'  tones  that 
cheer 
The  way-worn  mnleteer ; 

So  he  tells. 

Then  the  reindeer  faster  goes, 
O'er  Lapland's  frozen  snows. 

Decked  with  bells. 

So,  too,  the  coalman's  jingling  bells. 
And  the  man  who  muffins  sells 
Rings  his  say. 

But  if  the  Bellman's  voice  has  died, 
Not  so  all  bells  beside 

Have  sileui  -i 


81 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


MIXED     PICKLES. 

(Continued  from  page  31.) 

^  II,  dear  I  wliat  word  can  describe  the 
filthy  mess  into  which  Brj'da 
was  plunged  up  to  her  waist ! 
the  smell  of  it,  and  the  chill, 
horrible  feehng  I  Fortu- 
nately, she  had  just  taken 
Maurice's  hand,  to  help  in 
the  '  soul,'  who,  indeed,  felt 
very  lucky  to  escape  such  a 
voyage  I  Maurice  was  able 
to  help  her,  but,  soaked  to 
the  waist  and  ready  to  cry, 
she  scrambled  up  to  dry  land. 
By  way  of  mending  matters,  the  dog  Cer- 
berus, who  rnay  be  supposed  to  have  become 
Toby  again,  had  gone  in  altogether,  and  was 
rather  pleased  with  himself.  So  he  came  and 
]iad  a  good  shake  close  to  Bryda,  so  as  to  splash 
all  the  rest  of  her  small  person,  and  then  ran 
round  and  round,  expressing  his  delight  by  all 
sorts  of  queer  noises. 

But,  oh  I  here  was  a  mess  I  And  this  after 
the  trouble  of  yesterday  and  all  Bryda's  good 
resolutions  I  It  was  too  dreadful,  and  tears 
came  fast  to  her  eyes. 

But  kind  Maurice,  instead  of  laughing,  pitied 
her.     '  Don't  cry,'  he  said  :  '  can't  you  wash  ? ' 

'  I  might  !■!(»,'  said  Bryda,  dolefully,  remem- 
bering what  dreadful  things  happened  to  frocks 
that '  ran.' 

'  That  stuff  might  run  off,'  said  Maurice ; 
'  come  on.' 

And  she  followed  meekly  to  the  nearest 
greenhouse,  where  was  a  large  tub  of  fresh 
water,  and  beside  it  a  big  S(|uirt  or  syringe 
used  for  watering  plants  high  uj)  in  the 
greenhouse. 

'  Oh,  Maurice  dear,  I  never  ^^dll  call  you 
stnpid  again  !  '  cried  Bryda,  delighted,  as 
Mam-ice  filled  the  syringe  and  set  to  work  upon 
her.  "What  fun  that  was !  It  was  almost 
worth  the  fright  of  that  horrid  splash,  and 
almost — not  quite,  perhaps — worth  the  disgrace 
Bryda  would  certainly  be  in  with  nurse.  Such 
peals  of  laughter  followed  each  shower  that  the 
quiet  cows  in  the  fields  beyond  lifted  up  their 
great  heavy  heads  and  stared  with  brown  eyes 
of  mild  astonishment. 


Can  you  imagine  the  sort  of  figure  Bryda 
was  when  grandmother  came  out  in  her  wheel- 
chair to  take  a  turn  in  the  sunsliine  ?  Soaked 
from  head  to  foot ;  streams  of  clean  water,  and 
others  of  the  horribly  smelling  stuff  into  which 
she  had  plunged,  pouring  off  her  in  all  directions! 
She  did  indeed  look  a  miserable  little  guilty 
thing,  hanging  her  head  wdiile  grandmother 
looked  at  her  through  a  gold  eye-glass,  evidently 
so  surprised  and  shocked  that  she  could  find  no 
words  for  a  few  minutes,  and  at  last  could  only 
tell  her  she  must  never  I  never  I  never  1  do  such 
dreadful  things  again.  If  she  did  the  conse- 
quences  would  be 

***** 

This  row  of  stars  must  stand  for  those  dreadful 
consequences,  for  Bryda  never  heard  them  I 
Uncle  James  and  grandfather  had  come  up  by 
this  time,  and  she  fled  as  fast  as  wet,  clinging 
clothes  would  let  her  to  the  house.  It  was  '  out 
of  the  fryingpan  into  the  fire  though,  for  nurse's 
wrath  was  really  something  too  dreadful ;  and 
the  way  in  which  she  ended,  by  saying  that  she 
supposed  Miss  Bryda  would  like  better  to  make 
mud  pies  in  the  streets  than  to  play  with  other 
Christians,  hurt  the  child's  feelings  dreadfully. 
I  am  sorry  to  say  she  walked  out  of  the  nursery 
Avith  damp,  smooth  hail-  and  a  clean  frock,  but 
with  her  head  so  very  much  in  the  air  that  her 
namesake.  Saint  Bride,  or  Bridget,  would  have 
been  quite  shocked. 

'  You  see,  Cousin  Salome,'  she  said  after- 
wards, '  it  was  such  a  dose  of  disgraces  ;  and  I 
meant  to  be  so  wise,  and  clever,  and  useful.' 

'  Did  you  aih  to  be  made  wise,  and  clever, 
and  useful  ?  '  asked  Salome,  gently. 

Bryda  hung  her  head.  She  had  forgotten 
that.  I  am  afraid  she  dressed  so  quiddy  in  the 
morning  to  join  Maurice  that  she  never  remem- 
bered to  ask  the  Helper  of  tlie  helpless  to  make 
her  what  she  would  like  to  be. 

'  I  have  been  so  miserable.  Cousin  Salome,' 
she  added ;  '  I  don't  believe  Mary,  queen  of 
Scots,  conld  have  been  more  WTetched  if  she  had 
had  her  head  cut  off  three  times  running.' 

How  this  was  to  be  managed  did  not  seem 
to  strike  Bryda  as  isuzzling.  She  and  Maurice 
had  so  often  acted  the  execution  of  Mary  of 
Scotland,  with  an  arm-chair  for  the  block  and 
an  umbrella  for  an  axe,  that  they  were  quite 
used  to  the  Queen  having  ]jer  head  cut  off  very 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


often  without  minding  it  in  the  least,  or  Leing 
any  the  worse  for  it  afterwards. 

But,  certainly,  it  is  very  tiresome  when  our 
most  amusing  games  end  in  some  mischief  that 
we  never  dreamt  of  doing  !  It  was  not  so  veiy 
long  before  this  dreadful  accident  in  the  tub  that 
Brj'da,  who  had  been  reading  English  history, 
told  Maurice  they  would  act  Canute  and  his 
courtiers  on  the  sea-shore. 

So  she  put  two  chairs,  and  collected  all  the 
water  she  could  from  every  jug  and  water-bottle 


way  up  the  legs  of  their  chairs,  and  they  had 
already  been  sitting  with  their  knees  up  to  their 
noses. 

But  here  Bryda,  trying  to  get  herself  into  thia 
graceful  position,  lost  her  balance,  and  rolled 
off  her  chair,  falling  on  the  edge  of  the  bath; 
which,  of  course,  upset,  and  made  a  higher  tide 
in  the  nursery  than  had  ever  been  seen  there 
before,  for  the  water  flowed  in  every  direction, 
and  the  children,  ashamed  and  frightened  as  they 
were,  could  not  help  laughing  at  the  way  in 


she  could  find,  so  as  nearly  to  fill  a  bath  in  front 
of  the  two  chairs  on  which  she  and  Maurice  sat. 
'  So  they  put  chairs  close  by  the  sea-shore  as 
the  tide  came  in,'  related  Bryda,  '  and  the  little 
waves  came  nearer  and  neai'er.  And  the  cour- 
tiers said,  "  0  King,  let  us  move  a  little  higher 
up."  But  Canute  said,  "  Why  should  we  ? 
Did  you  not  say  I  was  such  a  great  king  that 
no  doirbt  even  the  sea  would  obey  me  ?  "  And 
the  courtiers  held  their  stupid  tongues,  for  they 
knew  very  well  that  they  had  said  so.  But  the 
tide  kept  on  coming,  and  jsresently  the  courtiers 
got  up  and  rdn  away,  for  the  water  was  half- 


which  a  pair  of  Bryda's  shoes  floated  about  like 
little  canoes,  till  one  that  had  a  hole  at  the  side 
turned  over  and  went  down. 

This  happened  at  Bryda's  own  home,  before 
her  father  and  mother  went  away.  Mother  was 
not  pleased,  of  course ;  but  still,  she  was  not  quite 
so  dreadfully  shocked  as  the  grannies  were  at 
the  adventure  in  the  old  tub. 

CHAPTER  IV. WHAT  CAN  I  DO  ? 

It  was  in  a  penitent  frame  of  mind  that  Bryda 
awoke  on  Sunday  morning.  She  would  be  really 
good  and  keep  out  of  mischief  all  day  long. 


36 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


Cousin  Salome  was  better  tMs  morning,  and 
Bryda  went  in  to  see  lier  after  brealdast. 

'  No,  dear,  I  cannot  go  to  cliurch.,'  she  said, 
■when  Bryda  asked  if  she  would  go  that  morniQg ; 
'  but,  I  dare  say  church  will  come  to  me.  I  shall 
read  to  myself,  and  think  of  all  the  people  all  over 
the  world  who  are 
saying  the  same  words 
of  prayer,  tiU  my  little 
room  seems  to  grow 
•  into  a  piece  of  a  great 
church.'  And  Sa- 
lome's white  .thin  face 
grew  so  bright  and 
sweet,  that  Bryda 
thought  it  looked  lilie 
an  angel's  face  in  a 
picture  she  had  seen. 

The  idea  helped  her 
to  sit  much  more  still 
than  usual  in  the  old 
family  coach,  oppo- 
site the  two  dear  old 
grannies. 

Grandfather  was  a 
very  polite  old  gentle- 
man, and  thought  people  now-a-days  too  free 
and  easy.  Especially  he  held  that  no  gentleman 
ever  ought  to  drive  with  ladies  with  his  hat  on ; 
BO,  as  soon  as  he  got  mto  the  carriage,  he  always 
took  off  his  very-weU-brushed  tall  hat,  and  fixed 
it  by  the  brim  in  two  ribbons  fastened  for  the 
purpose  along  the  carriage  ceiling.  Grand- 
mother always  wore  a  bonnet  of  the  shape  that 
was  in  fashion  when  she  was  young,  a  curious 
coal-scuttle  affair,   which   generally  set   Bryda 


wondering  how  the  wi-inkled  old  face  looked 
when  its  pink  cheeks  were  round,  and  whether,  if 
she  were  to  go  to  work  with  a  piece  of  india- 
rubber,  she  could  rub  out  the  deep  lines  and  get 
the  young  look  back  again. 

Grandmother's  eyes  were  dim,  and  she  liked 
to  have  the  lessons  and  the  hymns 
found  for  her.    Bryda  sometimes  did 
not  care  to  do  this  ;   as,  if  the  hymn 
were  a  short  one,  it  was  sometimes 
half  over  before  she  had  found  her 
own   place,    and  was 
able   to  join,   as   she 
dearly  liked  to  do,  in 
the  singing. 

But  to-day  she 
really  did  want  to  be 
of  use,  so  she  did  this 
small  duty  cheerfully, 
and  was  rewarded  by 
the  happy  way  in 
which  the  old  lady 
smiled  and  nodded 
over  the  big  printed 
book. 

The  sermon  seemed 
to  have  to  do,  in  a  most  curious  way,  with  the 
very  things  of  which  Bryda  had  been  thinking, 
and  she  quite  started  when  the  Eector's  voice  said 
suddenly,  '  Nothing  to  do  1 '  and  there  stopped. 
'  Nothing  to  do,'  he  said, '  when  the  whole  world 
is  full  of  things  that  want  doing  I  The  harvest 
ripe,  but  the  labourers  idle  I  The  people  hungry, 
and  those  who  have  the  loaves  and  fishes  keeping 
them,  wasted,  unused  ! ' 

(To  he  continued.) 


THE   "WAT   TO   SUCCEED    AT    LAST. 

NOT  to  be  daunted  with  difficulties  is  the 
way  to  succeed ;  and  there  are  many  ex- 
amples to  illustrate  the  truth,  none  more  to  the 
purpose  than  that  of  one  William  Carey,  who 
in  after  life  became  famous  as  a  missionary  to 
the  heathen.  'VSTien  he  was  a  boy  he  was  one 
day  climbing  a  tree ;  he  slipped  and  fell  to  the 
ground,  and  broke  his  leg.  This  accident  kept 
Master  William  in  bed  for  some  weeks,  and  it 
was  stiU  longer  before  he  could  walk  without 
assistance ;  but  the  very  first  thing  he  did,  when 


he  regained  his  liberty  and  was  allowed  to  go 
out,  was  to  go  and  climb  that  very  tree.  He 
was  not  going  to  be  conquered.  No  wonder  he 
became  a  famous  man. 


OUTSIDE   HEAVEN. 

A  GOOD   man,   trying  to  conviiice   an  un- 
believer, repeated   the  passage  from  the 
Psalms, '  The  wcked  shall  be  turned  into  hell' 
'  Yes ;  but  where  is  hell  ?'  asked  the  scofier. 
And  the  reply  came,  short,  sharp,  and  telling : 
'  Anywhere  outside  Heaven.' 


SuNDA\  Reading  for  the  Young. 


:v  "Ye 


THE   NEW   TEAR. 


FALLEN  leaves  and  winter  snows, 
And  tlie  stormy  wind  that  blows, 
Tell  us  that  the  old  year's  gone 
And  a  new  one  draweth  on. 

.Little  children  then  may  sing 
Of  the  mercy  of  their  King, 
Who  has  led  them  day  by  day, 
And  wiU  keep  them  all  the  way. 

BeUs  are  ringing  o'er  the  snow. 
Chiming  sweetly,  soft  and  low ; 
And  the  happy  children  dear 
Dance  and  sing  with  voices  clear. 


Fnll  of  glee,  and  fnll  of  song. 
What  a  merry  little  throng  I 
Singing  of  the  heavenly  Child, 
Holy,  loving,  meek  and  mild. 

Oh  for  thankful  hearts  to  love 
Him  who  came  from  heaven  above 
Who  His  precious  life  laid  do's^Ti, 
Chose  the  cross,  but  gives  the  crown 

This  will  be  a  glad  new  year 
If  the  Lord  we  truly  fear ; 
This  is  wisdom's  safest  road, 
And  will  keep  us  near  to  G-od. 

Joanna  McKean. 


38 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


CHRISTMAS    CAROL. 

IjNCE  on  this  fairest  earth  of  outs, 
Under  tlie  moonlit  skies, 
The  flocks  Liy  sleeping,  and  the  flowers 
Had  closed  their  starry  eyes. 

The  sliepliords  watched  and  guarded,  lest 

iSome  evil  beast  of  prey 
Sliould  steal  amongst  the  sheep,  and  take 

The  helpless  lambs  away. 

'Twas  then  the  heavenly  Babe  appeared, 

God's  own  appointed  Lamb, 
And  angel  songs  resoimded  till 

Heaven's  lofty  arches  rang. 

He  came  as  gently  as  a  shower 

Of  soft  and  fleecy  snow, 
No  wealth  or  pomp  to  cradle  Him, 

Only  the  manger  low. 

And  there  He  lay,  God's  only  Son, 

For  us  so  fi'eely  given  : 
He  lived  a  little  child  on  earth. 

The  sinless  child  from  Pleaven. 

He  knows  what  little  children  need. 
He  knows  how  weak  they  are  ; 

And  if  they  trust  Him,  He  will  be 
Their  '  bright  and  morning  star.' 

For,  as  the  star  of  Bethlehem  led 

The  shepherds  to  His  stall. 
He'll  lead  the  trusting  children  on, 

And  guard  them  one  and  all. 

Joanna  McKean. 


EVERYBODY'S   CORNER. 

THE  SIGNS  OF  THE  ZODIAC. 

THE  wonders  of  Astronomy  are  very  diffi- 
cult to  explain  to  little  folks  ;  but  we  must 
try  and  do  our  best  with  regard  to  the  signs  of 
the  zodiac,  as  they  are  called. 

The  Earth,  in  its  revolving  round  the  Sun, 
does  not  keep  on  its  axis,  upright  or  perpen- 
dicular; but  the  North  and  South  Poles  are 
inclined  slightly,  or  obliquely,  and  this  peculiarity 
causes  the  various  changes  in  the  seasons,  by 
bringing  tlie  different  parts  of  the  world  in  direct 
line  with  the  sun.  Were  it  not  so,  the  middle 
of  the  earth  would  always  have  summer,  and 
the  parts  nearer  the  poles  perpetual  winter. 


The  oblique  path,  which  the  sun  appears  to 
take  in  the  heavens,  but  which  is  really  caused 
by  the  earth's  journey  round  the  sun,  is  called 
the  zodiac,  and  has  been  divided  into  twelve 
parts,  each  marked  by  a  sign  and  pictorial  figure 
representing  a  constellation  or  group  of  stars. 
These  signs  are  known  by  their  Latin  names, 
and  their  use  is  to  indicate  the  apparent  position 
of  the  sun  in  the  heavens  at  any  particular  time 
of  the  year.  We  thus  read  of  the  sun  entering 
Aries,  and  so  on. 

Here  is  a  list  of  the  Constellations,  with  the 
number  of  stars  in  each,  and  their  English 
names. 


Latin  Name. 

English  Name. 

Ndhbee  of- 
Staes, 

Aries. 

The  Earn. 

46 

Taurus. 

The  Bull. 

109 

Gemini. 

The  Twins. 

94 

Cancer. 

The  Crab. 

75 

Leo. 

The  Lion. 

91 

Virgo. 

The  Virgin. 

93 

Libra. 

The  Balance. 

51 

Scorpio. 

The  Scorpion. 

44 

Sagittarius. 

The  Archer. 

48 

Caprioornus. 

The  Goat. 

58 

Aquarius. 

The  Water-bearer. 

.    93 

Pisces. 

The  Fishes. 

110 

The  first  six  are  called  the  Northern  signs 
and  the  last  six  the  Southern. 

As  children  we  used  to  learn  the  following 
rhyme  to  fix  them  in  our  memory : — 

The  Eam,  the  Bull,  the  heavenly  Twins, 
And  next  the  Crab  the  Lion  shines. 

The  Virgin  and  the  Scales. 
The  Scorpion,  Archer,  and  She-goat, 
The  man  who  holds  the  watering-pot. 
And  Fish  with  glittering  tails. 


THE  SMUGGLER'S   GRAVE. 

LANDSLIP  :  a  landslip !     Such  a. 
jolly  one  I    Part  of  the  church- 
yard tumbled  down ;  and  all  the 
trees  and  bushes  on  it  going  on 
gromng  as  if  nothing  had  hap- 
pened !     Fatlier  is  going  to  drive  us 
over  to  St.  Martin's  to  see  it,   so   be 
quick,  girls,  and  get  ready.' 

Such  was  Charlie's  announcement,  as 
he  burst  into  the  schoolroom  one  morning. 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


What  he  coukl  find  'jolly,'  as  he  called  it,  in 
part  of  a  churchyard  falling  down,  we  did  not 
stop  to  inquire.  Hats  and  mantles  were  soon 
put  on,  and  before  the  waggonette  was  brought 
round  we  all  stood  waiting  on  the  steps. 

The  parish  of  Christchurdi,  of  which  my 
father  was  rector,  lies  in  the  middle  of  an  island 
off  the  east  coast  of  England;  and  the  neigh- 
bouring parish  of  St.  Martin  is  bounded  by 
the  sea,  which,  in  one  part,  is  continually 
encroaching  on  the  land. 

Not  very  long  ago  there  were  fields  and  a 
road  between  the  edge  of  the  cliff  and  the 
■churchyard,  but  the  hungry  w-aters  had  washed 
away  the  fields  and  devoured  the  broad  road ; 
■and  now  they  liad  taken  their  first  step  towards 
swallowing  up  the  churchyard,  by  undermining 
a  considerable  portion  of  it,  and  causing  the  earth 
to  sink  to  a  level  with  the  high-water  mark. 

And,  as  Charlie  had  said,  there  were  the  trees 
and  shrubs  upon  it,  growing  in  the  earth  as  if 
nothing  had  happened,  although  it  had  sunk  a 
distance  of  many  feet. 

We  were  not  a  little  curious  to  see  how  the 
graves  had  been  affected  by  the  change  of  level. 
There  were  not  many  of  them  in  this  part  of  the 
■churchyard,  and  the  few  there  were  were  mostly 
simple  mounds,  and  did  not  seem  to  have  been 
at  all  disturbed  by  their  sudden  descent. 

This  was  not  the  case,  however,  with  one 
grave,  across  the  centre  of  which  the  earth  had 
divided.  The  coffin  had  fallen  out  and  burst 
open,  disclosing,  not  a  human  skeleton,  but  a 
mass  of  bricks,  stones,  and  other  rubbish. 

'  Why,  look  I '  said  my  Httle  sister  Ethel,  in 
a  tone  of  disappointment  (Ethel  had  a  great 
liking  for  the  horiible),  'look  at  that  coffin  I  it 
has  no  bones  m  it.  I  thought  old  coffins  always 
had  bones  in  them.' 

'Not  always,  Ethel,'  said  my  father,  'some- 
times only  a  little  dust ;  but  I  cannot  understand 
how  this  one  came  to  be  filled  with  rubbish. 
If  I  remember  rightly,  the  grave  was  covered 
with  a  flat  stone,  on  which  a  man's  name  was 
engraved,  w'ith  his  age,  and  the  date  of  his 
death.' 

'  Was  not  this  the  smuggler's  grave?'  inquired 
Charlie. 

'I  am  not  sure,  my  boy ;  though  I  have  heard 
that  a  noted  smuggler  was  buried  in  this  church- 
yard, and  his   grave  was  somewhere  near  the 


edge  of  the  cliff.  Here  comes  Mr.  Charlton ; 
he,  no  doubt,  will  be  able  to  tull  us  all  about  it.' 
And  as  my  father  spoke,  the  Vicar  of  St.  Mar- 
tin's came  towards  us. 

After  greeting  us  all  in  his  kindly,  genial 
manner,  he  said, — 

'It  may  be  interesting  to  you,  children,  to  hear 
that  this  landslip  has  brought  to  light  a  curious 
secret.  It  has  always  been  supposed  that  a 
celebrated  smuggler,  named  Charles  Boone, 
better  known  on  this  part  of  the  coast  as  "  Slip- 
noose  Charlie,"  was  buried  in  the  grave  that  you 
see  has  been  broken  open.  This  man  gave  the 
officers  of  excise  more  trouble  than  any  other 
smuggler  on  the  coast,  w-hich  is  saying  a  great 
deal,  when  we  consider  what  a  large  share  the 
inhabitants  of  this  island  formerly  took  in  the 
contraband  trade,  and  it  would  seem  that  in  the 
end  he  must  have  contrived  to  baffle  them, 
though  they  thought  him  safely  dead  and  buried.' 

'How  could  it  have  happened?'  asked  my 
father. 

'  That  I  cannot  tell,'  said  the  Vicar.  '  But 
the  story  goes,  that  on  one  occasion  Boone  had  a 
terrible  fight  with  two  coastguardsmen  who  had 
been  for  a  long  while  on  the  look-out  for  him. 
After  a  fierce  struggle  he  escaped,  wounded 
mortally  as  they  supposed,  to  a  neighbouring 
cottage.  The  coastguardsmen  were  too  seriously 
injured  to  go  in  pursuit  of  him  at  the  time;  but, 
as  soon  as  help  had  been  procured,  the  cottage 
was  entered,  and  the  officers  were  shown  -what 
they  believed  to  be  the  dead  body  of  Boone ;  and 
the  corpse  was  placed  in  a  coffin  that  was 
subsequently  bm-ied  in  this  grave.' 

'Do  you  think  the  body  was  stolen  from  the 
coffin  after  it  was  buried?'  suggested  Ethel. 

'No,  my  dear,'  answered  Mr.  Charlton;  'if 
that  had  been  the  case,  the  coffin  would  have 
been  left  emptj^,  instead  of  being  filled  ^vith 
heavy  rubbish.  I  think  it  is  more  likely  that 
Boone,  after  successfully  feigning  death,  left 
his  friends  to  go  through  the  ceremony  of  a 
funeral  with  the  coffin,  which  was  fiUed  with 
heavy  materials  in  order  to  deceive  all  who  were 
not  in  the  plot,  and  that  he  escaped  to  France, 
or  the  Low  Countries.  Indeed,  it  is  not  unlikely 
that  he  was  identical  with  a  celebrated  smuggler 
w^ho  had  been  missing  for  some  years,  but  who, 
about  that  time,  reappeared  on  a  part  of  the 
coast  much  farther  north.'  F.  C. 


40 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


The  Old  Churchyard. 


Sua  DAY  Reading  for  the  Young. 


A  Boy's  Half-holiday. 


42 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


A    BOY'S    HALF-HOLIDAY. 

I  HE  sun  was  briglit  over  tlie  mea- 
dows, and  lit  up  the  gay  colours 
of  the  briglit  wild  flowers  ;  the 
stream  down  by  the  mill  si)arkled 
in  its  stony  bed,  and  showed  in 
the  sunlight  where  the  speckled 
trout  darted  in  and  out  among 
tlie  shallows. 

It  was  half-holiday  for  the  boys  of 
Childerton  School,  and  right  merrily  did 
they    use  it.  Some  went  off  to  bathe ; 
others  took  off  shoes  and  stockings,  and 
poked  about  the  big  stones  and  pools  for  millers' 
thumbs    and  minnows,   and   sometimes  an  un- 
fortunate troutling. 

Bob  Burton  and  his  chums.  Alec  and  Sweyne, 
went  off  butterfly -hunting  among  the  lanes  and 
meadows  of  Squire  Ridway's  farm.  They  were 
enthusiasts  in  the  science,  and  although  they 
knew  little  more  than  the  names  of  a  few,  they 
managed  to  pass  for  clever  fellows  among  their 
schoolmates,  and  exchanged  away  their  surplus 
admirals  and  jjainted  beauties  for  stamps,  and 
rabbits,  and  all  the  thousand-and-one  odd  things 
that  go  to  form  a  schoolboy's  stock-in-trade. 
The  air  was  bright  and  clear,  and  the  tlu-ee 
friends  entered  into  their  chase  with  zest. 

Breast-high  almost  was  the  tall  rye-grass  and 
meadow-sweet  as  they  ran  in  and  out  of  the 
fai-mer's  fields. 

'  Here's  au  admiral  I '  one  would  shout,  and 
all  ran  as  if  demented,  here,  there,  and  every- 
■whero. 

'  There  goes  a  sulphur  1 '  and  away  they  went 
in  an  opposite  direction. 

By-and-by  the  running  and  warm  sun  told 
its  tale. 

'  I  vote  we  sit  down  and  rest,'  said  Alec. 
'  Not  a  bad  idea,  is  it,  Sweyne  ?  We'll  get  in 
the  shade  under  the  bank ;  only  let's  keep  the 
roadside.  That's  the  field  where  the  old  red 
bidl  is  ;  and  he  nearly  tossed  old  Simmons  the 
other  day — so  they  say.' 

'  I  am  not  afraid  of  the  Squire's  bull,'  cried 
Alec,  '  tliough  he's  big  enough  to  eat  me.     But 

if  he  runs  after  me,  I'll  just Oh  1  look ! 

there  goes  a  peacock  I '  and  before  you  could 
say  '  Knife,'  up  jumped  the  lad,  never  finished 
his  sentence,  and  away  after  the  gaudy  butterfly 
among  the  clover  grass,  then  through  the  hedge, 


and  into  the  very  field  where  the  red  bull  was 
grazing  at  the  far  end. 

Alec  did  not  mind ;  no,  not  he.  The  bull 
sniffed  the  air,  and  tossed  his  head.  Still  the 
boy  ran,  here  and  there,  zigzag,  and  back  and 
fro.  Bull  roared ;  Alec  ran ;  tlien  waved  his 
butterfly-net  at  bull — he  would  not  bo  done  I 

Oh,  dear  1  Next  thing  he  caught  his  foot  in  a 
tuft  of  grass,  and  down  he  went  full  sprawl  on 
his  face,  where  he  lay,  out  of  bi'eath,  exhausted 
and  done — and  too  frightened  to  move,  for  Bull 
walked  up  leisurely  and  smellcd  him  all  over. 
He  was  not  very  savage,  but  he  did  not  like 
boys  intruding  in  Mi  field,  and  waving  their 
strange  sticks  at  him.  Why,  there  I  There 
were  two  more  of  these  audacious  urchins  just 
coming  over  the  gate,  as  if  one  were  not  enough 
to  spoil  a  bull's  temper;  and  off  he  galloped 
towards  the  gate  to  see  what  they  wanted. 

Poor  Alec  I  he  had  been  frightened  enough, 
but  he  did  not  wait  for  the  bull  to  return.  Up 
he  jumped,  and  ran  as  fast  as  his  legs  would 
carry  him  to  the  hedge,  and  was  over  in  a  trice, 
thankful  enough  not  to  have  lost  anything  more 
than  his  butterfly. 

'  Hanged  if  I  go  into  iliat  field  again,  Bob,' 
said  he. 

'  Well,  we  thought  the  best  thing  to  do  was 
for  us  to  show  ourselves ;  we  thought  the  old 
beast  would  make  for  us,  and  so  give  you  a 
chance.' 

'  Ugh  I  how  he  did  blow  in  my  ear  I '  said 
Alec ;  '  his  hot  breath  quite  gave  me  a  shudder. 
Let's  go  and  find  the  other  fellows,  and  get  up  a 
game.  That  bull  has  quite  spoiled  my  half- 
holiday,  besides  barking  my  knee  when  I  came 
down.' 

The  other  fellows  found,  a  round  game  was 
soon  in  full  swing,  and  by  the  time  the  sun  went 
down,  and  it  was  time  to  go  indoors,  even  Alec 
had  forgotten  that  his  half-holiday  had  been 
spoiled.  H. 

"WHICH    MOTTO    IS    YOURS? 

A  VAIN  man's  motto  is,  Win  gold  and  wear  it. 
A  generous  man's  „  „  Win  gold  and  share  it. 
A  miser's  ,,      „  Win  gold  and  spare  it. 

A  wasteful  man's  „      „  Mln  gold  and  spend  it. 
A  covetous  man's  „      „  Win  gold  and  lend  it. 
A  gambler's  „      ,,  Win  gold  and  lose  it. 

A  wise  man's         „      „  Win  gold  and  use  it. 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


MIXED    PICKLES. 

[Continued  from 'p.a^.') 

THE  clergyman  went  on  to  speak  of  works 
that  men  and  women  might  do,  and  Bryda 
nestled  close  against  grandfather's  shoulder  and 
thought  sadly,  '  When  I  am  grown  np  I  may 
Le  some  nse,  but  what  a  long  time  off  that  is  1 ' 
JBut  presently  she  looked  up  again  very  brightly 
as  the  kind  old  Rector  went  on, — 

'  And  now,  what  shall  I  say  to  the  little 
ones?  Just  this,  that  the  Father  needs  them 
quite  as  much  as  their  elders.  They  may  not 
be  able  to  do  great  works,  to  reap  the  harvest- 
field,  but  they  may  help  with  cords  of  love  to 
bind  the  sheaves,  they  may  glean  the  scattered 
ears  and  make  a  little  sheaf  of  good  corn.  The 
Lord  took  a  "  few  small  fishes "  to  serve  His 
gi-eat  pin-pose  ;  He  will  take  little  hands  and 
feet  and  hearts,  and  make  them  do  His  will. 
Only  the  little  ones  must  be  roilUng.' 

Yes  1  But  he  had  not  told  Bryda  what  she 
might  do,  and  how  to  set  about  doing  the  Lord's 
will  seemed  to  her  very  puzzling. 

She  wondered  about  it  the  whole  way  home, 
and  made  a  little  plan,  which  she  determined  to 
carry  out  at  once  after  luncheon.  When  grown- 
up people  were  very  good  Bryda  knew  that  they 
were  fond  of  caring  for  the  poor,  and  that  then 
they  generally  carried  soup  to  those  who  were 
sick,  and  read  the  Bible  aloud  in  cottages.  In 
her  o\n\  town  home  she  had  never  been  into  the 
houses  of  the  poor  at  all ;  indeed,  these  houses 
were  so  hidden  away  behind  the  handsome 
streets  in  which  the  rich  lived,  that  she  hardly 
knew  there  were  such  places.  But  here,  in  the 
little  village  outside  grandfather's  lodge-gates, 
she  Imew  poor  people  lived,  mostly  in  neat 
cottages  with  honeysuckle  climbing  over  their 
trellised  porclies.  There  were  most  likely  nice 
old  women  there,  who  sat  linitting  in  their 
tidy  room,  with  spectacled  eyes,  and  caps  as 
white  as  snow.  It  would  be  nice  to  go  there, 
and  surely  to  visit  them  would  be  useful,  and 
would  please  Him  who  made  use  of  a  '  few  small 
fishes '  to  do  His  work  when  He  was  on  earth. 

Full  of  this  happy  thought,  Bryda  descended 
to  the  kitchen.  The  servants'-hall  dinner  was 
just  over,  the  kitchen-maid  was  washing  plates 
in  the  scullery,  and  cook  was  sitting  by  the 
kitchen  window  with  a  very  clean  apron  and 


very  smart  cap,  while  by  her  stood  a  tall  young 
shepherd,  in  his  Sunday  best,  and  a  flower  ia 
his  coat. 

Bryda  made  her  request  to  cook,  namely,  that 
she  might  have  a  little  soup  in  a  jug. 

'  Whatever  do  you  want  it  for,  Miss  ?  '  asked' 
cook,  evidently  ill-pleased  by  the  interruption. 

'  I  want  10  do  good  to  the  poor,'  answered  she,, 
looking  up  seriously  at  the  cross  face. 

'  Dear,  Miss  !  What  an  old-fashioned  child 
you  are  1 '  cried  cook.  But  she  fetched  the  soup, 
and  Bryda  was  much  surprised  to  see  that  it 
was  a  cold  bright  jelly,  very  nice  to  carry,  as 
there  could  be  no  fear  of  spilling  it  on  her  fresh 
Sunday  frock.  So  off  she  started,  and  walked 
quickly  down  the  avenue  and  out  into  the  pretty 
village,  with  her  soup  and  her  Testament.  But 
now  came  a  new  puzzle, — Bryda  knew  none  of 
the  people  in  the  village.  To  which  house  should 
she  go  ? 

Looking  round,  she  saw  that  one  of  the  houses- 
looked  much  poorer  than  the  others.  The  little 
garden  was  full  of  weeds,  the  porch  shaibby  audi 
broken,  with  creepers  that  sadly  wanted  nailing, 
hanging  loosely  from  the  wall,  one  poor  rose- 
quite  bent  to  the  earth  with  heavy  blossoms.  , 
Everything  looked  neglected,  and  Bryda  thought 
the  people  must  be  very  poor  indeed,  since  their 
home  looked  so  \^Tetched.  Timidly  walliing  up 
to  the  door,  for  her  courage  began  to  fail  her  a 
little,  she  tapped  gently. 

'  Open  the  door,  Betsy,'  said  a  gruff  voice 
inside :  to  which  another  voice  answered, 
grumbling, — 

'  Can't   you    do   it   yourself,  you  stupid   old  . 
woman  ? ' 

Then  the  door  opened  suddenly,  and  Bryda 
saw  a  rough-looking  girl  of  about  fifteen,  with 
a  very  dirty  face,  shock  head,  and  imtidy,  torn 
dress,  whose  voice  was  as  rough  as  her  look 
holding  the  door. 

'  Now  then,  what  do  you  want  ? '  she  said, 
frowning  fiercely  at  her  trembling  visitor.  'D'yer 
want  to  know  the  way,  or  to  ax  a  gfess  of 
water  ?  That's  all  folks  like  yoir  ever  troubles 
folks  like  us  for,  'cept  when  v>'e're  ill,  and  then 
yer  brings  us  tracks.'  By  which  she  probably 
meant  tracts. 

'  If  yon  please,'  said  poor  Bryda,  '  I  thought 
some  one  might  be  ill  here,  and  so  I  brought 
some  soup.' 


44 


SuNDA  Y  Reading  for  the  Young. 


'  Come  in,  my  dear,  come  in,'  said  the  old 
woman  from  her  corner,  and  began  couglaing 
and  wheezing  very  loudly,  groaning  so  dread- 
fully between  her  attacks  that  Bryda  was  more 
frightened  than  ever,  and  thought  she  was 
going  to  die.  Perhaps  some  soup  would  do  her 
good;  so  she  timidly  entered  the  cottage,  the  girl 
immediately  shutting  the  door  behind  her,  set 
down  her  little  basket,  and  began  to  open  it. 

'  That's  a  nice  bit  o'  chain  round  yer  neck,' 
eaid  the  rude  girl,  coming  behind  her.  '  I 
wonder  if  it  wouldn't  look  better  on  me.'  So 
saying,  she  quickly  unclasped  the  pretty  silver 
chain  that  hung  round  her  visitor's  neck  and 
put  it  on  her  own  neck  before  Bryda  had  time 
to  object. 

The  old  woman  had,  meantime,  stopped 
coughing;  she  got  up  quickly  and  seized  the 
jng  of  clear  soup-jeUy,  and  began  poking  her 
shrivelled  old  fingers  in  and  so  eating  it.  But 
the  girl,  seeing  this,  caught  the  hand  that  held 
the  jug,  while  the  old  woman  was  eating  and 
muttering  all  the  time. 

'  Soup  for  the  sick  I  Oh,  yes,  I  am  very  iU  1 
Bring  me  some  soup,  my  dear ;  bring  me  plenty 
of  soup.' 

The  rough  girl  caught  the  jug  and  tried  to 
put  her  own  fingers  in,  on  which  a  struggle 
followed  ;  the  pitcher  fell  to  the  floor  and  broke, 
while  the  jelly  was  scattered  everywhere,  and 
poor  Bryda,  frightened  almost  out  of  her  wits,  left 
the  two  dreadful  women  to  fight,  opened  the  door, 
and  ran  as  if  they  were  after  her,  leaving  locket 
and  chain,  and  her  basket,  and  feeling  as  if  she 
were  fortunate  in  escaping  at  all. 

Eushing  blindly  on,  she  hardly  knew  where, 
only  feeling  that  she  must  run,  her  foot  caught 
in  the  root  of  a  tree,  and  she  fell  violently  to  the 
ground,  striking  her  head  against  the  trunk. 
Stupid  as  she  felt,  in  a  moment  she  was  trying 
to  struggle  up,  when  a  hand  was  laid  on  her 
shoulder  ;  and,  thinking  it  must  be  the  dreadful 
girl  who  had  so  frightened  her,  the  poor  child 
screamed  aloud. 

'Hush,  hush!  don't  scream  that  way!'  said 
a  kind,  soothing  voice;  an  arm  gently  raised  her, 
and  Bryda,  looking  up,  saw  an  old  man,  -nnth 
cheeks  like  a  winter-apple,  white  hair,  and  a 
pair  of  the  kindest,  friendliest  old  eyes  that  ever 
looked  through  spectacles,  standing  beside  her. 

'  Come  into  my  cottage  here,  and  rest  a  little 


bit,  and  tell  me  what  frightened  thee,  little 
missy,'  he  went  on. 

Bryda  looked  round  her,  feeling  that  for  this 
time  she  had  had  enough  of  the  inside  of  cottages. 

'  Do  now,'  went  on  the  old  man.  '  Don't  be 
afeard,  missy  I  Thy  grandfather  and  old  Roger 
were  young  together:  ah  I  and  good  friends  they 
were  too,  for  all  I  could  beat  him  at  wrestling ; 


he  never  took  it  amiss,  did  Master  George 
— that's  your  grandad,  little  missy.  Come  in 
now  and  welcome.'  Bryda  gained  a  httle 
courage  at  this  speech,  and  followed  the  old  man 
into  his  cottage,  close  to  which  she  had  fallen. 

As    she   went   she   could   see   the  rude  girl 
looking  out  of  her  house  and  making  ugly  faces 

'  Which  she  need  not  have  done,'  said  Bryda, 
afterwards  ;  '  she  was  hideous  already  I ' 
(To  he  continued.) 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


45- 


46 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


ONLY    A    PIECE    OF    AMBER. 

AMBER  is  an  exndation  from  trees  of  the  pine  family  of  a  very  remote 
period;  ■\vliole  forests  are  now  submerged  below  tlie  ocean.  The 
insects,  which  are  sometimes  seen  imbedded  in  it,  are  of  an  extinct  species. 
On  the  sea-coast  of  Prussia  there  are  large  mines  for  working  the  amber, 
and  it  is  picked  np  on  the  shores  of  the  Baltic  Sea.  It  is  sometimes  also 
found  on  the  coasts  of  Norfolk,  Essex,  and  Sussex,  in  England,  but  in  very 
Email  quantities. 


A  little  piece  of  golden  amber 

Some  one  sent  to  me, 
Found  lying  out  upon  the  shoreland 

Of  a  stormy  sea. 

I  wondered  if  it  had  a  storj^, 

Whisp'ring  in  my  ear 
Of  whence  it  came,  and  where  its 
homeland. 

In  the  ages  drear. 

I  asked  it,  Could  it  tell  me  this 

I  so  wished  to  know, 
Of  where  it  had  its  first  beginning, 

In  times  so  long  ago  ? 

It  answered   softly,   'Where    great 
forests 

Waved  in  sunshine  briglit  ; 
Now  tlw  ocean  holds  high  revel 

In  its  stormy  might. 


'  Then  as  a  little  forest  tear-drop 
From  a  mighty  tree, 
I  came  trickling  down  the  rough 
stem, 
Drojiping  full  and  free. 

'  When,  lo  I  upon  my  gummy  surface 
Came  a  tiny  fly ; 
It  stmggled  hard  to  gain  its  freedom, 
But  it  had  to  die. 

'  Tlien  another  drop  of  resin 
Closed  it  aU  around. 
And,  becoming  loosened  from  the 
tree-stem. 
Fell  upon  the  ground. 

'  Thus  lying  there,  through  long,  long  ages. 
Hardened  me  quite  through ; 
At  last,  a  lovely  piece  of  amber 

I  now  come  to  you.'      Joanna  McKean.. 


THE    ANIMALS    OF    THE    BIBLE. 

The  Lion. 


IN  introducing  these  papers  I  would  like  to 
say  to  ray  yoimg  readers  that  my  wish  is  to 
throw  a  '  side  light '  on  the  Book  that  is  so  very 
precious  to  us.  The  importance  of  natural 
history  in  its  bearing  on  the  Bible — that  Book 
which  contains  so  many  allusions  to  various 
animals — will  be  recbgnised,  I  am  sure,  by 
all.  It  is  by  our  study  of  the  natural  history  of 
the  East,  Oriental  customs,  and  subjects  of  that 
kind,  that  we  give  new  life  to  the  Old  Book,  and 
bring  its  narratives,  yes,  and  its  teaching  also, 
more  vividly  before  us. 

In  treating  of  the  Bible  animals,  we  shall  not 
take  them  in  the  order  found  in  the  Bible,  but 
shall  commence  with  the  lion,  because  he  is  tlie 
'  King  of  beasts.' 

The  lion  is  first  mentioned  in  the  forty-ninth 


chaj)ter  of  Genesis,  where  the  dying  Jacob  bids- 
farewell  to  his  sons.  '  Judah  is  a  lion's  whelp.'' 
And  then,  if  we  skip  over  all  the  rest  of  the 
Bible  and  go  on  to  the  last  book,  we  find  our 
Saviour  is  called '  the  Lion  of  the  tribe  of  Juda  ' 
(Rev.  y.  5). 

There  are  five  different  words  in  the  Hebrew 
for  the  Hon,  expressing  different  stages  of  its 
history.  They  signify  a  little  lion,  a  young  one 
growng  up,  one  just  in  its  full  strength,  one 
having  young  of  its  own,  and  one  very  fierce  and 
savage. 

At  present  lions  do  not  exist  in  Palestine,  but 
there  can  be  no  doubt  tliat  at  one  time  tliis- 
animal  was  to  be  found  in  most  parts  of  the  Holy 
Land.  We  read  of  their  dens  in  the  mountains- 
of  Lebanon,  of  their  coverts  in  the  low  ground 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


47 


■near  the  Jordan,  whence,  when  the  river  over- 
•flowed  its  banks  in  the  spring  time,  they  were 
driven  to  the  hills,  where  they  often  committed 
great  ravages.  They  also  occupied  the  plains 
of  Tabor,  and  were  found  in  the  fields 
of  Bethlehem. 

The  gradual  disappearance  of  the  lion  from 
Palestine  is  said  to  have  been  occasioned  by  the 
making  of  new  roads,  under  the  Roman  rule, 
for  which  purpose  woods  and  thickets  were  cut 
•down. 

The  lion  has  an  insatiable  appetite,  and  re- 
quires a  wide  area  over  which  to  hunt  for  his 
prey.  In  proportion,  therefore,  as  the  population 
■of  a  country  increases,  his  hunting-grounds  grow 
less  and  less,  and  he  is  driven  by  hunger  nearer 
to  the  dwellings  of  men,  who  kill  him  in  defence 
■of  their  homes. 

The  lion  is  now  confined  to  Africa  and  the 
jparts  of  Asia  east  of  the  river  Euphrates.  It 
used  to  range  over  Syria,  Asia  Minor,  and  even 
Tm-key  in  Europe.  It  is  long  years,  lio\Yever, 
since  its  roar  has  been  heard  in  Europe,  save  from 
an  iron  cage. 

The  lion  of  Palestine  was  in  all  probability 
'the  Asiatic  variety,  distinguished  by  its  short 
curly  mane,  and  by  being  shorter  and  rounder 
in  shape  than  the  African  lion.  Those  we  see  in 
England  are  mostly  brought  from  Africa,  there- 
fore they  have  long  manes. 

Africa  has  always  been  productive  of  lions ; 
and  its  vast  plains  and  dense  forests  yielded 
to  the  Romans  those  crowds  of  lions  of  which  we 
read  in  history,  and  wonder  how  they  were 
-caught.  Hundreds  of  lions  were  exhibited  at 
-one  time  in  the  Grand  Circus  at  Rome ;  it  is 
said  even  as  many  as  six  hundred.  And  Mark 
Antony,  about  whom  schoolboys  often  have  to 
read  more  than  they  care  for,  did,  we  are  told, 
■drive  about  the  streets  of  the  city  drawn  by 
lions — a  not  very  probable  story,  yet  it  may  be 
true. 

(To  he  contimied.) 


CHARACTER. 

ONE'S  real  character  generally  shows  itself 
in  httle  things,  just  as  the  light  seems 
most  bright  which  shines  through  narrow 
•chinks. 


TAME    TOM. 

is  not  often  that  hedgehogs  can  be 
tamed ;  generally  they  live  wild  in 
the  hedgerows  and  thickets,  and  feed 
upon  the  fruits  and  berries  of  the 
copse-sides,  with  an  occasional  feast 
of  snails  and  beetles,  or,  better  still, 
a  nest  of  eggs,  either  of  game  birds 
like  the  pheasant  or  partridge,  or 
from  the  roost  of  the  nearest  farm. 

The  subject  of  this  little  story,  however.  Tame 
Tommjr,  was  quite  a  contrast  to  the  timid,  wild 
animals  of  the  field.  Instead  of  rolling  himself 
up  in  a  ball  for  the  winter,  and  going  to  sleep, 
he  was  as  lively  as  a  kitten  all  through  Decem- 
ber and  Christmas,  and  made  his  home  by  the 
kitchen  fire,  only  retreating  to  the  scullery, 
where  there  were  dinner-plates  to  be  cleared  of 
scraps,  or  the  poor  hungry  cats  to  be  hunted 
about. 

Ah,  these  cats  1  When  Tommy  was  first 
brought  in,  a  living  wonder,  a  real,  live,  wild 
hedgehog,  the  cats  all  fled ;  they  could  not  make 
out  the  new-comer,  and  their  anger  and  fright 
were  not  lessened  when  one  of  them  giving  him 
a  smack  with  her  paw  found  the  prickles  on 
Tommy's  back  too  sharp  for  her,  and  rushed  off 
with  a  bleeding  foot. 

It  was  a  long  time  before  friendship  and 
peace  were  restored  in  the  kitchen,  aiid  to  this 
day  Tommy  remains  master,  always  has  the 
best  bone,  the  first  turn  at  the  saucer  of  bread 
and  milk,  and,  when  his  high  spirits  get  the 
upper  hand,  drives  the  cats  away  from  their 
warm  corner,  and  rolls  himself  up  in  a  ball  on. 
their  bit  of  carpet. 

In  ancient  days  the  hedgehog  seems  to  havo 
been  a  very  sagacious  animal,  and  is  celebrated 
in  history  as  having  obtained  for  an  observant 
citizen  of  Cyzicus  the  reputation  of  being  a 
clever  mathematician. 

It  was  in  this  way.  A  hedgehog  generally 
forms  openings  in  its  burrow  at  various  points ; 
when  instinct  warns  it  of  a  change  in  the  wind 
it  stops  the  opening  in  that  quarter,  and  so  has 
always  shelter. 

The  Cyzician  discovered  this  habit,  a^id,  from 
a  close  observance  of  the  burrows  of  a  colony  of 
hedgehogs,  was  always  able  to  predict  the 
quarter  to  which  the  wind  would  next  shift. 

H, 


48 


SuNDA  V  Reading  for  the  Young. 


The  UiTO'elcome  Guest. 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


49 


Pale3''s  Turning-point. 
II 


50 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


THE   TTJRliriNG-POIWT    IN   A  LIFE. 

IT  is  stated  of  Pale}',  the  great  theologian, 
that  when  at  college  he  was  thrown  into 
the  society  of  a  Avild  set  of  young  fellows.  One 
morning,  whilst  Paley  was  j'ct  in  bed,  one  of 
these  entered  his  room,  and  reasoned  with  him 
on  the  folly  of  continuing  the  course  upon  which 
he  had  entered.  'As  for  me,'  said  the  speaker, 
'  it  is  not  a  matter  of  such  importance.  I  was 
born  to  large  estates  and  independence,  whilst 
you  have  to  depend  entirely  upon  your  own 
exertions  for  your  advancement  in  hfe.' 

Paley  listened  without  replying  to  all  that  his 
friend  had  to  say,  and  as  soon  as  he  was  gone 
began  to  tliink  seriously  of  what  he  had  heard. 
He  remained  in  bed  all  that  day  pondering 
deeply.  The  next  morning  he  rose  at  five 
o'clock,  and  set  himself  to  study.  He  gave  up 
all  his  wild  companions,  and  continued  the  habit 
of  early  rising  throughout  the  remainder  of  his 
career ;  it  was  the  turning-point  in  his  life. 


EVEEYBODYS    CORNER, 

EASTERN    EEVEREXCE. 

THE  eastern  nations  take  off  their  slippers 
when  we  should  remove  our  hats.  They 
never  uncover  their  heads  any  more  than  we  our 
feet.  Everyn'here  in  Oriental  coimtries,  whether 
among  Christians,  Moslems,  or  Pagans,  it  would 
be  considered  an  irreverent  outrage  for  a  person 
to  enter  a  church,  temple,  or  mosque,  with  feet 
covered ;  and  even  the  priests  perform  their  duties 
■with  bare  feet. 

And  this  form  of  showing  respect  enters  the 
common  intercourse  of  life :  an  Oriental  would 
see  Avith  disgust  any  one  entering  his  room  with 
shoes  on,  and  look  upon  it  as  an  insult  and 
IJollution. 

So  we  can  understand  the  command  of  God 
to  Moses  to  take  his  shoes  off,  because  he  was 
standing  on  holy  ground,  and  Moses  at  once 
knew  aU  that  was  implied  in  the  words. 


THE    DYING  SOLDIER. 

THERE  was  a  terrible  storj'  told  in  a  daily 
paper  in  the  hght  of  the  hajipy  Christmas 
fires  not  long  ago.  It  was  the  year  of  the 
Franco-German  war,  and  in  one  of  the  provinces 


of  fair  France,  there  was  in  one  of  the  tem- 
porary military  hospitals  a  poor  German  soldier, 
mangled  and  maimed,  whose  fevered  brain  ^s-ss 
full  of  home,  and  wife,  and  children,  and  in  the 
delirium  that  followed  the  cutting  off  of  a  limb 
he  crawled  out  of  the  hospital,  and  was  found  in 
the  village  street  trying  to  drag  his  poor  bleeding 
body  over  the  frozen  gi'ound. 

A  kind  Frenchwoman  ran  to  him  and  put  the- 
cooling  di-aught  of  water  to  his  burning  lips. 

'  No,  no  : '  murmured  he  ;  'I  am  only  thirsty 
for  home  and  Httle  ones.'  And  with  that  thirst- 
unsatisfied,  and  the  sad  longing  in  his  heart,  he- 
turned  upon  his  face  and  died. 

Oh  I  how  terrible  is  the  grief  that  war  brings, 
as  if  death  were  not  cruel  enough  Avithout  it  I 


MIXED    PICKLES. 

{Co}itimied  from  page  44.) 

CHAPTER  V. OLD  ROGER. 


Ir^  IPvECTLY  Bryda 
was  inside  the  old 
man's  cottage  she 
was  able  to  collect 
her  scattered  wits, 
and  look  round  at 
her  kind  friend  and 
at  his  dwelling. 

The  httle  room 
into  which  she  had 
come  served  as  the 
old  man's  sitting- 
room  and  kitchen 
both;  the  door  into 
what  would  natu- 
rally have  been  his 
little  parlour  was 
open,  and  she  could 
'~      ^^    I  '-  see   tools    hanging 

'''^.  ■       '  — ~^  up  on  neat  wooden 

racks,  li.alf-fiuished  chairs  and  boxes  lying  about, 
and  in  the  centre  of  the  room  a  carpenter's  bench 
and  turning-lathe.  The  carpenter  himself  wore 
a  very  old  -  fashioned  dress,  long  blue  knitted 
stockings,  strong  low  shoes,  with  buckles,  a  scarf 
woimd  roimd  and  roimd  his  throat,  so  that  two 
little  j)oints  of  very  white  collar  came  just  under 
his  chin,  and  a  funny  old  brown  coat  -with 
peculiar-looking  buttons. 


Sunday' Reading  for  the  Young. 


51 


He  drew  a  chair  for  Bryda  near  the  hearth, 
on  which  burnt  a  small  wood  fire,  and  above 
which  were  a  great  many  memorial  cards  in 
frames — wonderful  worlcs  of  art  with  a  very 
black  background  and  a  very  white  tomb,  over 
■which  leaned  in  exhausted  attitudes  drooping 
female  figures,  supposed  to  be  lamenting  the 
departed  in  the  tomb,  with,  usually,  a  large 
weeping  willow  in   one  corner  of  the  picture. 

The  carpenter  himself  sat  down,  where  he  had 
evidently  been  sitting  before,  at  a  small  table,  on 
which  was  a  very  large  Bible  with  pictures  in  it. 

As  he  did  so  his  eyes  rested  on  the  opposite 
wall,  on  which  was  a  quaint  old  woodcut,  re- 
presenting the  Christ  in  Joseph's  workshop  at 
Nazareth,  with  a  glory  round  His  head,  busily 
making  a  table.  Bryda  saw  it  too,  and  could 
not  help  noticing  the  look  of  pleasure  that  came 
into  the  old  man's  face,  as  if  he  had  suddenly 
seen  a  very  dear  friend. 

'  You're  a  carpenter,  Mr.  Eoger?'  said  Bryda, 
trying  not  to  feel  shy. 

'  Ay,  ay,'  answered  the  old  man,  turning  his 
spectacled  eyes  slowly  from  the  picture  to  her 
face.  '  I  make  chairs  and  tables,  and  all  else 
that  I've  strength  for,  just  as  He  did,'  pointing 
to.  the  picture.  '  He  made  them  for  thirty  years, 
but  I've  made  them  now  for  twice  that,  and 
more.  Nigh  on  to  eighty  years  I've  done  the 
same  work  as  He  did ;  and  whenever  I  do  a  real 
neat  job,  missy,  I  say  to  myself,  "  That's  right, 
Roger ;  do  'em  better  and  better  still,  and  some 
day  you'll  do  one  that  He  needn't  a-been  ashamed 
of.' 

'  Do  you  think  the  Lord  made  the  best  chairs 
and  tables?'  asked  Bryda,  wondering.  She 
had  been  so  much  more  used  to  think  of  our 
Redeemer  as  He  taught,  and  worked  miracles, 
and  went  about  doing  good,  than  as  the  car- 
penter who  worked  quietly  in  a  little  out-of-the- 
way  village. 

'  I  dunno  about  the  best,  missy ;  maybe  He 
never  had  the  best  teachin' ;  leastways,  not  to 
make  grand  folks'  furniture.  But  I  know  every 
nail  He  drove  was  put  in  true  and  straight,  and 
never  a  bit  of  bad  wood  used,  or  a  place  people 
•wouldn't  see  left  unfinished.  All  the  work  He 
■did  was  the  best  He  knew  to  do — that  I  know 
right  well,  missy.' 

Bryda  sighed.  She  had  come  out  to  try  and 
•do  some  of  the  Lord's  own  work — to  help  the 


poor.  And  she  had  failed  so  horribly,  with  the 
best  intentions.  The  old  carpenter  heard  her 
sigh. 

'  Tell  old  Roger  how  you  got  into  trouble, 
missy,'  he  said ;  '  and  maybe  a  cup  of  tea  would  , 
freshen  you  after  all's  done.'  f 

It  was  only  half-past  three,  but  the  old  man  ' 
got  up  and  bustled  about,  laying  tea  on  the  '' 
clean  deal  table,  with  a  still  cleaner  cloth,  for 
Bryda  and  himself,  a  big  loaf,  and  a  little  bit  of 
countr}'  butter.  Then  he  put  the  kettle  on  to 
boil,  and  sat  down  opposite  Bryda  to  watch  it, 
while  she  told  all  the  story  of  her  adventure  to 
her  new  friend,  beginning  with  the  scrape  of 
yesterday,  and  Cousin  Salome's  story,  and  ending 
by  saying  sadly  that  it  seemed  as  if  there  was 
no  use  for  her  in  the  world. 

'Don't  fret,  my  dear;  don't  fret,'  said  the 
kind  old  man  ;  '  the  Lord  has  a  use  for  every- 
thing and  everybody,  if  they'll  ask  Him  to  show 
the  way.  Why  the  dear  Lord  had  need  of  a 
donkey  once,  and  He  sent  to  ask  for  it.  Didst 
ask  Him  what  to  do,  little  miss,  before  thou 
went  ?  ' 

Bryda  hung  her  head.  That  she  had  not 
done. 

'  That's  where  the  fault  was,'  said  Eoger, 
thoughtfully.  '  What  dost  think  'ud  happen  if 
I  tried  to  do  squire's  work,  or  parson's  ?  They 
wouldn't  thrive   witli  me,   for  sure.' 

At  this  moment  the  cottage  door  opened,  and 
the  object  of  Bryda's  terror,  the  shock-headed 
girl,  entered.  In  one  hand  she  held  Bryda's 
locket  and  chain,  in  the  other  her  basket,  both  of 
which  she  thumped  down  upon  the  table,  so 
that  all  the  tea-things  rattled,  merely  saying, 
'  There,  take  yer  things,  and  don't  come  near  us 
no  more  1 '  She  bounced  out  again,  and  banged 
the  door  behind  her. 

'So  it  was  Moll  Dawson  as  freckened  ye  1' 
said  Rogei',  when  she  was  gone ;  '  she's  a  real 
bad  un,  that  girl.  I'm  thinking  she's  one  of 
those  lambs  that  run  further  off  because  they 
hear  the  Shepherd  calling.' 

'  I  shall  never  dare  to  go  near  her  house 
again,'  said  Bryda  ;  '  but  I  am  glad  she  did  not 
steal  my  locket  and  chain.  And  I  wish  I  could 
help  somebody  who  is  sick  or  very  poor,'  she 
added,  returning  to  her  first  idea. 

The  old  carpenter  leant  his  elbows  on  his 
knees,  and  looked  at  Bryda  very  earnestly. 


52 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


'  When  I  were  a  yottng  rni,'  lie  said,  '  and 
lived  in  a  part  of  the  country  far  away  from 
here,  there  was  a  cold,  clear  spring  as  btihbled 
up  by  the  roadside,  with  the  best  water  in  all 
the  country  round,  that  never  dried  up.  And 
they  called  it  "  The  Child's  Well,"  and  told  a 
pretty  story  aboiTt  it.' 

'  Oh,  do  tell  me  1 '  said  Bryda,  eagerly,  roused 
at  once  by  the  idea  of  a  story,  like  a  dog  at 
the  scent  of  game. 

{To  he  conthmed.) 


Jerusalem  is  built,  according  to  the  prophecy  of 
Jeremiah,  on  her  own  heap. 

It  is  supposed  to  have  been  founded  two 
thousand  years  before  Christ,  and  to  have  re- 
mained for  ages  only  a  fortress  of  the  Jews,  till 
it  reached  its  greatest  splendour  as  the  capital  of 
Palestine  imder  King  Solomon,  David's  son. 
After  his  time  and  the  revolt  of  the  ten  tribes 
Jerusalem  declined,  and  was  a  prey  to  the 
attacks  of  the  Kings  of  Egypt,  AssjTia,  and 
Babj'lon.     Then  came  the  Captivitj',  and  after 


S^CSW/' 


JERUSALEM    AND 
OLIVET. 

*  HE  place  where  our  Blessed  Lord 
spent  His  last  days,  and  breathed 
His  last  prayer  for  the  human 
family,  must  ever  be  dear  in  the 
sight  of  those  who  call  themselves 
His  followers.  Christians. 

Its  history  has  often  been  written,  and  its 
final  destruction  is  one  of  the  most  awful  pages 
in  the  annals  of  the  world. 

No  city  of  like  antiquity  has  been  taken  and 
retaken  so  often  as  Jerusalem ;  it  has  been  be- 
sieged no  less  than  twenty-seven  times,  and  it  is 
owing  to  this  fact,  perhaps,  that  the  ground  of 
the  present  city  is  thirty  feet  above  the  old,  and 
the  valleys  nearlv  filled  with  ruins  and  rubbish. 


seventy  years  the  return  of  the 
Jews  and  building  of  the  second 
Temple,  so  far  inferior  in  beauty 
to  the  first  that  the  aged  Jews 
wept  when  they  beheld  it. 

Babylon,  Persia,  Greece,  all  in 
turn  oppressed  the  city  of  Palestine, 
till,  about  sixty  years  e.g.,  it  was  conquered  and 
taken  by  the  Romans. 

Then  came  the  most  deeply  interesting  portion 
of  its  history,  when  Jesus  Christ  came  to  dwell 
amongst  His  peojile,  and  walked  in  and  out 
amongst  them. 

Outside  the  city  is  the  Mount  of  Olivet,  hal- 
lowed by  so  many  tender  memories  to  the  lovers 
of  our  Saviour.  Still  are  the  ancient  walls  to  be 
seen  in  ruins,  where,  even  now,  in  the  place  of 
wailing,  the  Jewish  people  go  yearly  to  pour 
out  their  laments  for  their  ruined  and  desolate 
country  before  Jehovah,  thus  witnessing  to 
the  literal  fulfilment  of  Christ's  verj"-  words 
when  He  described  the  destruction  of  the 
Holy  City,  which  event  took  place  in  the  year 

70   A,D.    ' 


,Terii?alem  and  the  Mount  of  Olives. 


m 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


LEAVES    PROM    NOBLE    LIVES. 

FRAN'CIS  JOSEMI  CAMPBELL. 1. 

PERHAPS  you  have  never  before  heard 
of  the  man  of  whom  I  write,  yet  none 
^the  less  lias  his  life  been  a  noble  life ;  aye,  and 
yet  continues  to  be  so,  for,  thank  God,  his  ser- 
vant still  lives,  doing  his  work  in  this  our  world 
quietly,  faithfully,  steadily  as  ever. 

To  begin  at  tlie  beginning,  however :  about 
the  year  1838  an  active  little  American  boy  was 
jjlaying  near  his  father's  house  in  Franklin 
•County,  Tennessee,  when  he  ran  an  acacia  thorn 
into  his  eye,  thereby  (after  much  suffering) 
■entirely  losing  the  sight  of  both  eyes.  His 
parents,  honest,  loving,  country  people,  grieved 
^terribly  over  this  cloud  on  little  Joseph's  life. 
The  mother,  as  sight  day  by  day  faded  from 
]ier  little  boy's  eyes,  tried  to  impress  on  his  mind 
for  future  recollection  the  beauties  around,  tlie 
.blooming  orchard  trees,  and  the  stars  in  the 
night  sky ;  the  father,  nay,  all  the  family,  in- 
dulging and  petting  jDoor  blind  Joseph  till  it 
seemed  likely  that  the  boy  would  grow  up  a 
spoilt,  helpless  creature. 

At  six  years  old,  hoAvever,  little  Joseph  found 
■out  for  himself  how  selfish  he  was  becoming, 
and  it  was  not  very  long  before  his  own  active 
mind  devised  a  way  out  of  the  weary  desert  of 
idleness  and  indulgence  through  whieli  the 
child's  path  seemed  to  lead. 

The  Campbells  fell  into  comparative  poverty 
.at  this  time,  and  all  the  children  had  to  do  their 
best  to  help  in  the  small  farm  left  to  their 
parents  ;  only  Josejjh  need  not  work,  and  could 
not  go  to  scliool  Avith  the  rest.  He  was  very  dull 
in  his  blind  leisure,  this  poor  little  lad,  and  one 
ilay,  when  his  father  was  out,  he  set  to  work  to 
■  cut  up  firewood,  cut  it  fairly  well,  and  packed  it 
up  neatly,  as  the  custom  was.  When  his  father 
came  home  he  praised  the  big  brothers  for  their 
industry,  and  they  pointed  out  the  worker,  little 
blind  Joseph.  The  glad  father  at  once  bought 
the  boy  an  axe  of  his  own,  and  taught  him  how 
to  execute  other  light  farm-work;  it  was  a  joy 
to  him  to  find  that  Joseph  could  do  something 
in  the  world. 

By-and-by  a  school  for  blind  children  was 
■opcn-jd  in  the  neiglibourhood,  and  half  pleased, 
half  frightened,  Joseph  was  sent  there  ;  he  longed 
•to  learn,  but  was  naturally  afraid  to  leave  his 
home   and  loving  relatives.      His  alarm,  how- 


ever, did  not  last  long.  When  his  teacher  put 
the  New  Testament  in  raised  characters  into  his 
hand,  and  began  to  teach  him  his  letters,  Joseph 
felt  a  thrill  of  eager  joy  run  through  him  ;  he 
learned  the  whole  alphabet  in  three  quarters  of 
an  hour.  School  days  were  happy  days  to  blind 
Joseph  ;  difficulties  he  did  not  mind,  his  eager 
nature  found  pleasure  in  overcoming  them. 

The  blind  are  generally  fond  of  music,  apt  in 
learning  the  art;  but  Joseph  did  not  know  one 
tune  from  another,  and  was  considered  too  in- 
capable to  learn  :  so  he  was  told  it  was  useless 
for  him  to  take  piano  lessons  like  the  other  boys, 
lie  must  just  stick  to  his  basket  and  brush- 
making.  Wliether  the  boy's  pride  rebelled  at 
this  placing  of  him  in  a  lower  grade  to  others,  or 
whether  he  really  felt  the  dormant  p-wers  within 
him,  I  cannot  say  ;  I  only  can  put  down  the  fact 
that  he  paid  a  boy  to  instruct  Iiitn  in  music,  and 
worked  so  hard  himself  in  secret  that,  before  any 
one  was  aware  of  it,  he  had  learned  as  much  of 
music  as  the  other  boys. 

The  music-master  (also  blind),  coming  sud- 
denly into  the  room  one  day,  asked,  'Who  is 
that  playing  the  new  lesson  so  well  ? '  ■ 

'I,  sir.' 

'You,  Josiel  you  cannot  play  I  Conio  here; 
what  have  you  learnt  ?' 

'  All  that  you  have  taught  the  other  boys,  sir.' 

The  master  laughed.  '  Well,  then,  sit  down  and 
plaj'  the  instrnction-book  through  from  the  be- 
ginning.' 

Josie  did  it.  Fifteen  months  after  he  gained 
the  prize  for  pianoforte  playing,  a  medal  with 
the  motto,  '  Musica  lax  intenehris.' 

Work,  however,  did  not  altogether  take  the 
place  of  play  ;  this  blind  boy  loved  active 
sports,  riding,  hunting,  fishing :  he  was  an  ex- 
pert mountain  -  climber,  too.  But  little  time 
could  be  given  to  these  amusements ;  his  friends 
were  poor,  and  if  Joseph  wanted  a  university 
education  he  must  earn  the  money  for  it  liimself. 
But  how  ?  By  teaching  music.  Yes,  that  was 
his  best  hope.  Yet  the  boy  felt,  that  though  he 
had  learned  well  himself,  he  did  not  yet  know 
how  to  teach  people  with  the  blessing  of  sight. 

In  this  dilemma  two  young  ladies  offered 
themselves  to  him  as  pupils.  Longing,  yet  not 
daring  to  accept  the  charge,  Joseph  (only  a  lad 
of  fifteen)  walked  off  to  the  cemetery,  and  sat 
down  on   a  tombstone  to  consider  the  matter. 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young 


55* 


The  evening  was  chill}',  the  city  hells  chimed 
mournfully,  the  boy  felt  depressed.  '  Suddenly,' 
he  tells  US,  'I  thought  of  General  Carroll,  on 
■whose  tomb  I  sat ;  he  was  once  a  poor  boy  like 
me,  yet  for  twelve  years  he  was  the  idolized 
governor  of  Tennessee.  I  sprang  to  my  feet,  my 
mind  made  up.' 

Young  Campbell,  conquering  shyness,  went  off 
straight  to  one  of  the  best  pianists  in  America, 
and  aslcod  him  to  give  him  a  lesson  in  teaching, 
■which  the  man  good-naturedly  did.  The  next 
day  he  faced  the  two  Miss  Aliens,  and  gave 
them  their  first  lesson  successfullj'. 

A  year  later,  when  he  was  just  sixteen  years 
old,  young  Campbell  was  appointed  teacher  of 
music  in  the  very  institution  where  ho  had  iirst 
been  told  he  could  never  learn  music  I  So  much 
for  steady  perseverance. 

I  must  hurry  over  the  next  few  years  of  his 
college  career,  and  come  to  the  moment  when  he 
really  began  the  great  work  of  his  life,  the 
education  of  the  blind.  Fully  convinced  that 
blind  children  need  education  as  much  as  seeing 
ones,  and  that  they  can  be  taught  not  only  to 
■  read  and  write,  but  also  to  be  self-supporting 
members  of  society,  it  distressed  young  Campbell 
that  the  school  in  which  he  was  a  teacher  was 
EG  sparsely  supplied  with  blind  pupils  ;  perhaps 
their  parents  were  like  his,  and  had  been  afraid  to 
let  the  blind  children  leave  their  side.  The  chil- 
dren must  be  sought  out  and  persuaded  to  come. 

Tennessee  is  a  large  place,  full  of  mountains, 
rivers,  and  forests;  but  nothing  alarmed  at  this, 
Mr.  Campbell  mounted  his  sturdy  little  pony, 
and,  accompanied  by  a  friend,  set  out  on  a  tour 
of  discovery.  The  census  had  already  told  him 
of  many  blind  children  in  the  State,  but  others} 
he  discovered  in  his  own  jJersevering  search. 

Boys  and  girls  he  himted  up,  winning  over  the 
parents  by  kindly  assurances  of  the  care  that 
■would  be  taken  of  their  children,  and  then  in 
many  cases  taking  the  little  blind  girl  or  boy  up 
on  the  saddle  before  him  and  riding  off  ^^"ith  it. 

A  certain  little  Lizzie,  going  eff  quietly  at 
first  ■with  her  new  friend,  soon  began  kicking 
and  screaming  till  it  was  all  the  schoolmaster 
could  do  to  hold  her  on  his  _good  steed  Nelly. 
Happily,  wearied  with  fighting  against  cir- 
cumstanecsj  the  child  soon  fell  asleep,  and  thus, 
wi-apped  in  a  sheepskin  and  strapped  to  Mr. 
Campbell's  waist,  she  finished  her  journey. 


Nolly  and  her  master  had  other  difficulties- 
to  encounter  in  their  way  besides  refractory 
children — swollen  streams  to  cross,  rattlesnakes' 
to  avoid,  and  mountains  to  scale ;  but  the  ex- 
pedition proved  successful :  a  group  of  the  neg- 
lected little  ones  was  gathered  into  the  Blind 
School,  and  Blr.  Campbell  was  satisfied. 

'  My  little  girls  did  well,'  he  writes  in  later 
days.  'Years  afterwards,  Lizzie  Kelton  andl 
Nelly  Hammondtree  sent  me  tokens  of  re- 
membrance. Each  had  prospered  in  life,  and,, 
moreover,  each  had  reclaimed  the  drunken  father 
who  tried  to  prevent  her  going  to  school. 

In  185G  Mr.  Campbell  married,  and  not  long 
after  was  established  at  Boston  as  teacher  in  &> 
celebrated  institution  for  the  education  of  the 
blind.  Here  he  pursued  his  own  ideas  on  the 
subject  of  work  and  play  for  blind  children. 
'  Their  bodies,'  he  said,  '  needed  strengthening  as- 
much  as  their  minds.  So  he  made  his  boys  row 
and  swim,  and  fish,  and  skate,  besides  learning 
thoroughly  the  theoi'y  and  p)ractice  of  music. 

Eleven  years  the  hard-working  master  watohed 
over  his  scholars,  and  then,  his  own  health  brealc- 
hig  down,  and  his  wife  being  a  confirmed  in- 
valid, he  gave  uj)  work  for  a  time,  and  by  the- 
advice  of  his  friends  he  resolved  to  take- a  holiday 
in  Europe.  ^lole  continucA^ 


SEASIDE    WHISPERS. 

IKOAMED  along  the  lonely  shore. 
Which  Nature,  with  a  lavish  hand,. 
Had  sprinkled  shells  of  beauty  o'er. 

Like  jewels  on  the  golden  sand. 
The  rippling  wavelets  seemed  to  say, 
'  We  revel  in  the  silvery  spray  '. ' 

I  gathered  up  a  simple  weed 

That  lay  upon  the  ocean's  brink. 

And  it  was  very  fair  indeed, 
A  rival  of  the  coral's  pink. 

The  rippling  wavelets  seemed  to  say, 

'  The  blossoms  of  the  sea  are  gay  '.' 

I  listened  to  a  hollow  shell, 

And  heard  the  sound  of  music  there :. 
Methought,  '  Perhaps  the  fairies  dwell 

In  palaces  so  bright  and  fair  1 ' 
The  rippling  wavelets  seemed  to  say, 
'  Thy  dreams  are  all  of  us  to-day '.' 


5G 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


I  gazed  upon  the  jasper  sea, 

And  tlionght  of  those  who  sail  afar, 
How  they,  returning,  hail  with  glee 


The  surf  on  yonder  harbour-bar  I 
The  rippling  wavelets  seemed  to  say, 
'  They  love  their  homes  though  far  away  ! ' 
Edwakd  Oxenfokd. 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


An  Israelite  of  Old. 


58 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


MEN    OP    GOD. 

T  is  almost  impossible  to  read  or 
liear  the  life  of  any  of  those 
■wonderful  men  whose  stories  are 
{A,L  written  by  Crod  in  the  pages  of 
^  the  Bible,  without  trying  to  fancy 
to  ourselves  what  each  one  looked  like, 
what  was  his  peTsoaal  appearance — tall 
or  short,  handsome  or  the  reverse.  And 
very  often  grown-up  people,  as  well  as 
little  childi-en,  fancy  the  person  of  the  saint, 
apostle,  or  prophet,  according  to  the  character 
drawn  in  the  sacred  page. 

We  often  muse  upon  Elijah,  the  man  of  God, 
and  we  seem  to  see  a  tall,  commanding  figure, 
whose  very  presence  inspires  awe  and  respect; 
black  and  flowing  hair  and  beard,  half  covering 
the  rough  mantle  of  coarse  camel's  hair,  a 
deep  and  clarion  voice,  and  a  mien  full  of 
power. 

Or,  we  think  of  St.  John,  the  disciple  wliom 
Jesus  loved,  and  helijed  by  the  pictures  that 
great  painters  have  given  to  the  world,  we  call  up 
a  j'oung,  smooth,  and  loving  face,  with  fair  hair 
and  a  womanish  expression  of  devotion  that 
makes  the  long  and  flowing  eastern  robe  appear 
the  most  natural  thing  possible. 

Then  at  the  thought  of  Judas  we  shiver,  and 
the  character  of  him  who  w-as  '  the  Son  of 
Perdition,'  pictures  for  us  a  forbidding  and 
scowlmg  look,  a  face  of  rough  and  coarse  ex- 
pression, and  a  presence  which  portrays  the 
traitor. 

These  things  may  have  been,  but  it  is  likely 
enough  that  the  prophets  and  men  of  God  of 
olden  times  were  very  different  from  what  we 
are  wont  to  imagine. 

St.  Paid  we  are  sure,  from  his  o'wii  letters,  was 
little  in  stature  and  not  likely  to  command 
respect  by  a  handsome  presence. 

The  zeal  and  impetuosity  of  St.  Peter,  we 
may  feel  certain,  as  surely  showed  itself  in  his 
face  as  the  love  of  St.  John  did  in  his. 

And  then  the  Israelites  of  old,  when  it  was 
not  the  custom  to  shave  the  face,  and  when 
nature's  hand  was  not  spoiled  by  cutting  the 
hair  which  God  gave  for  use  and  ornament,  as 
well,  as  in  the  case  of  Samson,  for  other  pro- 
vidential ends,  must  have  been  a  handsome  and 
commanding  race  of  men ;  and  we  might  easily 
make  a  very  long  list  of  the  men  whose  history 


the  Bible  gives  us,  who,  we  are  quite  sure,  were 
well-favoured  in  countenance,  and  goodly  to  look 
upon — Saul,  David,  Absalom,  Moses,  Samson, 
and  Daniel,  to  say  nothing  of  those  described  in 
the  New  Testament. 

One  lesson  we  may  all  learn  from  such 
thoughts,  it  is  to  copy  the  hves  of  God's  saints ; 
to  try  to  be  like  them  in  our  prayers,  to  give  our 
lives  to  God  as  they  did,  to  count  everything 
but  loss,  except  so  far  as  it  and  all  will  help  us 
to  glorify  the  dear  Lord  who  so  loves  us ;  and 
that  the  truest  beauty  after  all  is  not  that  of  our 
feeble  body,  which  is  so  subject  to  pain  and 
suffering,  and  must  one  day  die  and  decay, 
but  the  beauty  of  a  holy  life,  the  never-fading 
loveliness  of  a  saintly  character,  which  will  end 
in  the  perfection  of  heaven,  the  home  of  the 
saints,  the  presence  of  their  God  Himself. 

iELFRIDA. 


SMALL    THHiTGS. 

A  SMALL  wound  may  be  mortal. 

A  small  shop  may  have  a  good  trade. 

A  small  leak  will  sink  a  great  ship. 


ANIMALS    OF    THE    BIBLE. 

The  Liox. 
[Contimied  from  p.  47.) 

THE  Asiatic  Hon,  it  is  said,  has  not  the 
courage  of  its  African  relative.  When 
he  would  seize  his  prey  he  has  recourse  to 
cunning  rather  than  force ;  he  crouches  among 
the  reeds  which  border  the  Tigris  and  Euphrates, 
and  springs  upon  all  the  feeble  animals  which 
come  there  to  quench  their  thirst ;  but  he  dares 
not  attack  the  boar,  which  is  very  common 
there,  and  flies  as  soon  as  he  sees  a  man,  or 
woman,  or  even  a  child.  If  he  catches  a  sheep 
he  makes  off  with  his  prey,  but  he  abandons 
it  to  save  himself  when  an  Arab  nms  after 
him. 

If  he  is  hunted  by  horsemen  he  does  not 
defend  himself,  unless  he  is  wounded  and  has  no 
hope  of  safety  by  flight.  In  such  a  case  he  will 
fly  on  a  man  and  tear  him  to  pieces  with  hia 
claws,  for  it  is  courage  more  than  strength  that 
he  wants. 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


59 


Now,  tlie  fact  that  the  Asiatic  lion  is  a  less 
dangevous  animal  than  the  African  variety  will 
help  ns  to  imderstand  more  easily  those  joassages 
in  the  Bible  which  record  instances  of  shepherds 
attacking  lions  single-handed.  The  stripling 
David  bravely  fonght  with  and  conquered  a 
lion  that  attacked  his  flock  ;  and  Benaiah,  one 
of  liis  warriors,  was  also  famous  because  he  had 
killed  a  lion  single-handed. 

The  instances  are  but  few,  however,  in  which 
the  lion  was  attacked  single-handed;  it  was 
more  common  for  hunters,  with  horses  and  dogs, 
to  surround  one  after  it  was  driven  out  into  some 
open  place,  and  then  try  to  pierce  it  with  spears, 
while  the  dogs,  who  hate  the  lion,  held  it  down. 
Or  else  men  would  rush  in  upon  a  lion  from  two 
or  three  directions  with  firebrands,  and,  putting 
his  tail  between  his  legs,  he  would  slink  away  as 
if  frightened,  and  so  be  easily  conquered — for  of 
all  things  the  lion  dreads  fire. 

The  commoner  way  of  catching  the  lion  was 
by  digging  jjits  or  laying  traps  and  nets,  and 
this  often  formed  an  amusement  to  the  Eastern 
kings.  The  nets  must  have  been  made  very 
strong  indeed  to  inclose  such  animals  ;  and  how 
they  got  them  out  of  the  nets  and  into  dons  or 
cages  to  keep  them  securely,  one  does  not 
exactly  see — frequently,  no  doubt,  they  were 
killed  at  once.  Sometimes  young  lions,  or  cubs, 
might  be  caught,  and  these  would  be  more 
manageable. 

Several  things  I  may  mention  that  give  the 
lion  high  rank  among  quadrupeds.  He  looks 
grand  when  he  is  moving  along,  and  grand 
when  he  is  standing  still,  and  grand,  too,  when  he 
is  crouching  or  lying  dowm..  Though  large  and 
formidable,  he  is  not  unwieldy  or  clumsy,  but 
possesses  a  beautiful,  compact,  symmetrical  form  ; 
strong,  yet  agile;  muscular,  but  not  unnecessarily 
fat. 

The  length  of  the  large  lion  is  between  eight 
and  nine  feet ;  its  height  being  about  four  and  a 
half  feet. 

The  lion  is  counted  a  noble  animal,  because  he 
has  fits  of  generosity,  and  does  not  always  make 
use  of  his  power.  A  lion  in  the  Tower  of 
London  once  spared  a  little  spaniel,  which  had 
been  thrown  to  him  for  a  meal ;  and  the  two 
lived  together  for  three  years  in  love  and 
friendship.  Another  lion  there  was  never 
happy  unless  he  had  a  dog  to  share  his  cap- 


tivity. Once  he  seemed  to  be  pining  away, 
having  lost  his  companion ;  but  when  another 
was  found  for  him  he  speedily  recovered  his 
health  and  spirits. 

The  lion  makes  its  den  in  some  cave  of  the 
mountains,  or  in  some  dense  thicket  of  the  forest. 
It  has  generally  two  chambers,  which  are  kept 
very  clean  and  neat.  Only  think  of  the  lion 
being  so  tidy  1  you  would  hardly  have  given 
it  credit  for  setting  such  an  example.  Here 
it  lies  snug  and  quiet  in  the  daytime,  but 
when  night  comes  it  sallies  forth  for  its  food. 
It  may  have  to  go  a  long  way,  but  thirty  or 
forty  miles  are  only  a  pleasant  walk  for  a  lion. 
Its  loud  roars  tells  the  trembling  animals  that 
their  enemy  is  abroad,  and  they  are  often  so 
terrified  that  they  lose  their  self-control,  and  run. 
towards  it  instead  of  from  it,  and  then,  with 
eyes  glowing  like  fire,  it  has  nothing  to  do  but 
spring  upon  its  prey. 

Many  of  the  Persian  kings  kept  a  menagerie  of 
lions,  either  for  amusement  or  that  they  might 
throw  prisoners  or  criminals  to  them.  Every 
reader  knows  the  story  of  Daniel  and  his  night 
among  the  lions,  how  the  hungry  lions  forgot 
their  fierceness,  and  refused  to  touch  the  man 
'  who  believed  in  his  God.'  '  My  God  hath  sent 
His  angels,  and  hath  shut  the  lions'  mouths, 
that  they  have  not  hurt  me.' 

Considering  how  great  the  lion  is  in  its 
nature,  it  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  that  it  should 
be  frequently  used  i"u  the  Bible  to  symbolise 
great  things.  As  a  nation  the  Israelites  are 
compared  to  a  lion.  Take  your  Bible  and  read 
what  Balaam  says  on  the  mountain-top  as  he 
beholds  the  encampment  of  Israel  (Numb,  xxiii. 
24 ;  xxiv.  9.) 

In  the  New  Testament  the  lion  is  the  emblem 
of  Christ,  who  '  prevailed  to  open  the  book  and 
loose  the  seven  seals  thereof  (Rev.  v.  6). 

On  the  other  hand,  the  fierceness  of  the  lion 
rendered  it  an  appropriate  metaphor  for  a  fierce 
and  malignant  enemy.  So  is  it  employed  by  St. 
Peter  to  set  forth  the  enemy  of  mankind  :  '  Your 
adversary  the  devil,  as  a  roaring  lion,  walketh 
about  seeking  whom  he  may  devour.' 

These  are  onljr  a  few  of  the  many  instances  in 
which  the  lion  is  referred  to,  and  it  will  afford 
you  interesting  employmeijt  to  search  out  other 
passages  in  wliich  mention  is  made  of  the  '  King 
of  beasts.'  T.  S. 


60 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


SuNDA  Y  Reading  for  the  Young. 


61 


MIXED    PICKLES. 

{Continued  from  page  52.) 

ELL,'  continued  the  old  man, 
'  they  say  that  once,  long  years 
ago,  there  was  a  little  lassie 
troubled  i'  mind  like  you, 
missy,  and  wanting  to  do  a 
bit  o'  work  for  the  dear  Lord. 
So  every  day,  when  she  left 
her  little  white  bed,  she  knelt  down 
and  prayed  summat  like  this  :  "  Dear 
Lord,"  says  she,  "give  me  a  little 
bit  of  Thy  great  work  to  do."  And  all  day 
long  she  was  kind  and  gentle,  and  always  doin' 
a  hand's  turn  for  some  one,  if  it  was  only  miudin' 
a  babby  while  the  mother  went  out. 
But  she  didn't  understand,  ye  see, 
missy,  that  such  bits  o'  things  could 
belong  to  the  Lord's  work.  Till  one 
day,  as  the  story  goes,  when  it  was 
a  holiday,  all  the  chicks  went  out, 
and  were  going  some  way  off  to 
play.  Just  as  they  got  a  little  way 
out  of  the  village,  on  the  dusty,  hot 
road,  they  met  an  old  man,  very 
footsore,  and  old  and  tired-lookin'.  ff'iil 
So  he  says,  "  For  dear  pity's  sake, 
little  uns,  give  me  a  little  water."  But  the 
well  was  some  way  back,  and  the  childer  in  a 
hurry  to  go  and  play,  so  they  one  and  all  told 
him  to  go  on  furder,  and  he'd  find  what  he 
wanted.  All  but  this  little  maid :  she  stayed, 
looking  wistfully  at  the  old  man,  though  the 
others  called  to  her  to 
(  come  on.   "Sit  down,"  she 

)  says,    "  till    I    fetch    you 

_  (  some  water,"  and  off  she 

runs  back  to  the  village, 
fills  a  cup,  and  brings  it 
back  steady,  not  spillin'  a 
drop.  But  when  she  came 
where  she  left  the  old  man 
sitting,  there  was  a  beau- 
tiful figure,  all  in  a  white 
dress  with  gold  about  it, 


and  such  a  face  as  she  had  never  seen  before. 
And  He  took  the  cup  and  put  it  to  His  lips,  and 
then  with  a  voice 
like  a  sound  of 
many  waters — so 
she  told  the  people 
after — He  told  her, 
"  Even  a  cup  of 
cold  water,  given 
to  the  very  least, 
shall  have  its  re- 
ward." And  he 
poured  out  the  rest 
of  the  water,  and 
where  it  fell  this 
spring     rose     up. 


And  while  the  little  maid  looked  at  it,  all  on  a 
sudden  He  was  gone."  ' 

'  Was  it  an  angel  that  she  saw  ? '  asked  Bryda, 
in  an  awe-struck  tone. 

'  Some  say  it  was  an  angel,  some  say  it  was 
the  dear  Lord  Himself,'  said  the  old  carpenter, 
bowmg  his  head  reverently.  '  But  I  don't 
rightly  know,  missy ;  I  don't  rightly  know.' 
Here  the  kettle  made  a  distraction  by  boilmg 
over,  and  old  Roger  took  it  off  and  made  tea. 

Then  his  little  visitor,  who  had  now  quite 
recovered  her  spirits,  suggested  that  it  would  be 
'  awfully  nice  '  if  they  had  some  buttered  toast, 
and  in  two  minutes  he  and  Bryda  were  on  two 
stools  by  the  fire,  each  with  a  slice  of  bread  at 
the  end  of  a  fork,  the  old  man  and  little  girl  as 
happy  as  it  was  possible  to  be. 

They  were  just  going  to  turn  their  pieces  and 
toast  the  other  sides,  when  suddenly 
the  door  opened,  and  Bryda's  nurse 
entered  like  a  whirlwind,  and  stood 
horror-struck  on  the  threshold. 

'  Oh,    Miss    Bryda,    you    naughty, 
'  naughty  girl !    Whatever  do  you  think 


62 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


your  poor  dear  mother  would  say,  seeing  j'oii 
sitting  there,  for  all  the  world  like  a  vulgar 
child,  and  every  one  up  at  the  house  running 
about  distracted,  because  you're  lost  ?  Come 
away  this  minute  1 ' 

Bryda  had  nothing  to  say  for  herself.  She 
meant  to  do  good;  hut  it  was  very  naughty  to 
slip  away  '  unknown,'  as  nurse  would  say,  and 
frighten  every  one. 

The  old  carpenter  had  tea  alone  after  all, 
and  Bryda  went  sorro\^'fuIly  home  with  her 
scolding  nurse. 

CHAPTER  VI. UNCLE  JACk's  STORY. 

Uncle  Jack  came  home  next  day,  and  Bryda's 
spirits  rose  from  freezing  to  a  very  high  point 
indeed  when  she  saw  him  come  into  the  garden, 
where  she  was  sitting  rather  sadly,  with  knitted 
hrows,  very  busily  thinking,  and  staring  hard  at 
nothing.  Slie  was  trying  to  think  how  it  was 
that  she  could  not  manage  to  be  of  more  use ; 
and  that  is  a  very  deep  subject  to  think  about 
when  you  are  only  nine  years  old. 

'  Though,  after  all,'  said  Bryda  to  herself, 
"lessons  may  do  me  some  good.  When  things  are 
disagreeable,  like  doses  and  lessons,  people  say 
they  are  for  your  good :  but  I  don't  see  how 
tliey  can  do  any  one  else  good.' 

Just  as  she  was  thinking  this  a  merry  whistled 
tune  came  through  the  trees.  Nobody  could 
whistle  like  Uncle  Jack. 

'  \'Mi:at's  the  matter,  maiden  all  forlorn?' 
asked  his  cheery  voice.  '  Here  comes  the  man 
all  tattered  and  torn  to  rouse  you  up  1 ' 

'  Oh,  Uncle  Jack  I '  said  Bryda,  sorrowfully, 
°I  am  no  use.' 

'  No  use  I  who  cares  about  that  ?  Perhaps 
you  were  made  for  ornament,  like  the  roses,  and 
butterflies,  and  nice  little  singing -birds.' 

'  Ornament's  no   use,'   went  on  Bryda,  sadly 

still. 

;(        '  Isn't  it  ?     If  the  world  had  no  birds,  and  no 

\   flowers,  and  no  butterflies,  and  no  children,  only 

;    hard-working  men  and  women  and  cart-horses, 

what  sort  of  place  would  it  be  ? ' 

'  Very  dull,'  said  Bryda,  quickly. 

'  So  I  should  think.  And  supposing  the 
birds  were  all  harnessed  to  carts,  and  the  flowers 
mown  down  for  hay,  and  the  children  set  to  work 
in  offices  all  day  long,  would  that  be  nice  ? ' 

Bryda  laughed.     '  No,  indeed,  Uncle  Jack.' 


'  Well,  then,  Bryda's  work  is  to  look  merry 
and  good-tempered  and  happy,  as  if  she  was  a 
tame  sunbeam  that  the  grannies  kept  to  anmse 
them.' 

Bryda  laughed  still  more. 

'  Uncle  Jack,  do  you  know  you  are  horribly 
nice?'  she  said,  dragging  him  do«^i  to  a  seat. 

'  Horribly  nice  ?  What  sort  of  niceness  is 
that?  Like  raspberry  jam,  or  pet  kittens,  or 
troublesome  children  ?  AH  these  are  nice,  and 
horrible  too.  Jam  is  horrible  when  it  makes  you 
ill,  kittens  when  they  scratch,  children  when  they 
behave  badly.' 

'  I  wish  I  could  grow  up  all  at  once,'  said 
Bryda,  with  a  sigh ;  '  and  then  I  should  never 
get  into  scrapes  again,  and  have  grandmother 
calling  me  Bridget.' 

This  was  Bryda's  idea  of  the  worst  thing  that 
could  be  said  to  her ;  when  she  was  naughty  her 
own  mother,  and  the  grannies  too,  called  her 
Bridget,   instead  of  using  her  pet  name. 

'  Would  you  like  all  other  children  to  grow  up 
too,  and  have  only  men  and  women  in  the 
world  ?  Oh,  poor  Bryda  !  how  dull  you  would 
be  1  Supposing  I  were  to  tell  you  a  story  about 
a  country  where  something  of  the  sort  happened?' 

'  Please,  i^lease  do  1 '  cried  Bryda ;  '  only 
please.  Uncle  Jack,  don't  let  it  have  a  moral. 
Miss  Quillnib  used  to  tell  me  stories  when  it 
was  too  wet  to  go  out  after  lessons,  and  there 
was  always  a  moral — something  about  me,  you 
know.  And  that  spoilt  the  story,  just  the  way 
powders  spoil  raspberry  jam.' 

(To  he  continued.) 


THE   WEALTH   OF   POVERTY. 

A  POOR  woman  and  her  two  children,  with- 
out a  bed  to  lie  upon,  and  scarce  clothes 
enough  to  cover  them,  no  friends  to  go  to  in  the 
whole  world  for  help,  crouched  down  to  sleep  in 
the  corner  of  the  room  they  called  '  home.' 

It  was  winter,  and  the  freezing  wind  whistled 
round  the  wretched  dwelling.  The  poor  mother 
took  a  cellar  door  off  its  hinges,  and  placed  it  as 
a  sort  of  screen  before  the  corner  to  keep  off  a 
little  of  the  biting  blast ;  but  she  complained  of 
their  hard  lot  even  while  she  did  it. 

'  iMother,'  whispered  one  of  the  children, '  what 
do  those  poor  children  do  who  have  no  cellar 
door  to  put  in  front  of  them?' 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


6S 


MISS    MARIGOLD'S    LOVE. 


ISS  MARIGOLD   and  Poppy 
Bold 
Were  growing  side  Ijy  side ; 
Miss  Marigold   had  promised 

slie 
"Would  be  his  blooming  bride. 

Miss  Jliirigold  was  tall  and  straight 

And  just  a  litlle  prim  ; 
Poppy,  with  his  scarlet  coat, 

Had  quite  a  martial  trim. 

He  was  a  soldier,  but  whene'er 

He  spoke  of  going  to  fight, 
His  JMarigold  would  weep  and  say. 

Her  heart  was  breaking  quite. 

So  Poppy  had  to  stay  at  home. 

While  sword  and  spear  grew  rusty; 

You  will  not  be  surprised  to  hear 
This  made  him  rather  crusty. 

He  Grosser  grew,  and  yet  more  cross, 

Until  one  summer  day 
Miss  Marigold,  oft  sighing  said, 

'  No  longer  you  shall  stay. 

*  You  vex  me  so,  that  all  my  leave? 
Are  falling  off  from  weeping  ; 


No  rest  have  I  by  day  nor  night. 
When  waking  or  when  sleeping.' 

So  Poppy  donned  his  coat  of  red. 
His  buckler,  sword,  and  spear,  too  ; 

He  said  good-bye  to  Marigold — 
I  think  he  shed  a  tear,  too. 

But  while  in  speaking  last  fond  words 
The  cruel  time  was  slipping, 

A  step  adown  the  garden  path 
With  gentle  tread  came  tripping. 

Nearer  came  it — nearer  still — 
Beside  the  flowers  it  stopped ; 

The  scissors  went  snip,  snap,  snip. 
And  down  poor  Poppy  dropped. 

Snip,  snap,  snip  yet  once  again. 

And  on  the  ground  Miss  Mary  lies  : 

So  there's  an  end  of  Poppy's  fighting 
And  Mary's  sobs  and  sighs. 

Yet,  after  all,  they  were  not  parted. 
In  one  nosegay  they  were  tied. 

And  when  withered,  still  together 
In  one  book  they  both  were  dried. 


LIFE'S    BATTLE. 

EVERY  man  at  the  battle  of  Agincourt 
fought  as  if  the  success  of  the  day  de- 
pended on  him  alone.  If  we  fight  thus  we  shall 
conquer. 

HISTORY    OF    THE    PENNY. 

-According  to  Camden  and 

Spelman,  the  ancient  English 
penny  was  the  first  silver 
J.,  coin  struck  in  England,  and 
the  only  one  current  among 
W  our  Saxon  ancestors.  In  the 
time  of  Ethelred  it  was  equal  in  weight  to  our 
threepence. 

Till  the  time  of  King  Edward  I,  the  penny 
was  so  deeply  indented  that  it  might  be  easily 
broken,  and  parted,  on  occasion,  into  two  parts 
— these  were  called  half -pence ;  or  into  four, 
these  were  called  four  things,  or  farthings. 


THE     BEGINNINGS 
CONSCIENCE. 


OP 


WHEN  Matthew  Hale,  the  future  great 
Lord  Cliief  Justice,  first  entered  as  a 
student  for  the  Bar,  like  many  of  the  students  of 
his  time  he  lived  a  life  of  utter  recklessness. 
Being  one  day  in  a  tavern  near  the  Temple 
together,  with  some  of  his  companions,  one  of 
them  was  suddenly  taken  with  a  fit.  When  he 
had  been  in  some  measure  revived,  Hale  went 
into  an  adjoining  room,  and  throwing  himself 
upon  his  knees,  prayed  earnestly  to  God  that 
the  life  of  his  companion  might  be  spared,  at  « 
the  same  time  vowing  to  change  his  own  wild 
course.  God  heard  his  prayer,  and  his  friend 
was  restored  to  health.  Hale  immediately  gave 
up  the  society  he  had  hitherto  frequented,  and 
became  remarkable  for  that  devotion  and  piety 
which  so  distinguished  his  career  as  one  of  the 
most  famous  of  the  Lord  Chief  Justices  of 
England. 


64 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


Tl  e  BiA'inninp:  of  a  Great  Man. 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


65 


The  Poet'a  Sunny  Corner. 


66 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


A   EOY   POET. 

ISTOEY   tells    tliat 
three  hundred  years 
ago,  when  a  great 
persecution  for  re- 
ligious opinions  was 
being  carried   on  in 
what   are   now    the 
Belgian  and  Flemish 
towns,  a  poor  family, 
named  Vondel,  moved 
from    Antwerp    to 
Cologne,   in   order  to 
escape  the    severities 
of  the  governing  au- 
thorities. 

While  there  a  little 
son  was  given  them, 
and  in  the  last  days 
of  1587  little  Joost 
von  ''  ill  Vondel  received  his  name,  his  i^arents 
little  dreaming  that  he  was  destined  to  become 
the  famous  boy-poet  of  Holland. 

His  first  years  were  spent  amid  all  the  hard- 
ships of  a  life  of  exile  :  the  father  gained  a 
precarious  living  by  making  poems  and  selling 
hosiery,  the  mother  had  enough  to  do  to  care 
for  the  wants  of  the  household  and  little  ones, 
and  Joost  was  permitted  to  educate  himself 
as  best  he  could  in  the  streets ;  the  utmost 
his  father  could  do  was  to  teach  hini  to  read 
and  write. 

There  is  an  old  motto,  '  Where  there's  a  will 
there's  a  way.'     So  it  was  with  this  lad. 

The  burning  thoughts  of  his  growing  yoimg 
mind  found  vent  amid  his  companions :  he 
would  sit  in  a  sunny  corner  and  scrawl  his 
boyish  verses  on  stray  bits  of  jiaper,  and  read 
them  afterwards  to  his  playfellows,  and  some- 
times even  stop  in  the  midst  of  a  game  to  recite 
his  poetry  to  them  at  the  corner  of  a  street. 

Then,  when  his  parents  moved  to  Amsterdam 
he  had  a  new  audience,  and  he  would  startle  the 
passers-by  by  his  theatrical  displays  and  stirring 
verses,  as  he  recited  to  his  playfcUovv's  in  the 
market-place. 

At  thirteen  his  parents  could  no  longer  disguise 
from  themselves  that  their  boy  was  born  to  be  a 
poet  and  a  writer ;  the  neighbours  wondered  how 
he  had  learned  to  compose,  and  where  he  had  got 
Buch  ideas,  far  too  deep  for  a  boy. 


But  at  thirteen  he  was  old  enough  to  help  his 
father  in  trade,  and  his  proud  spirit  had  to  bend 
itself  to  hosiery  and  yarns  for  some  years  to  come. 

Not  until  he  was  twenty-six  years  old  did  he 
begin  to  study  Latin,  but  the  rapidity  with  which 
he  leamt  the  language,  and  the  improvement  it 
worked  in  his  ideas,  style,  and  composition,  was 
amazing. 

In  1G25  a  patriotic  poem  brought  him  fame 
and  distinction,  and  though  prosecuted  and  fined 
for  publishing  what  was  deemed  a  treasonable 
production,  it  brought  him  into  the  first  rank  of 
poets,  as  a  patriot  and  a  writer. 

From  that  time  success  and  calamities  attended 
him  in  turn.  His  writings  have  been  likened 
to  Milton's ;  his  greatest  work,  of  which  the 
Emperor  Constantine  the  Great  was  the  hero, 
was  nearly  completed,  when,  in  1632,  his  wife 
died,  and  the  blow  nearly  killed  him.  He  de- 
stroyed the  MSS.  and  gave  himself  to  business  ; 
but  his  straits  grew  worse  and  worse,  increased 
by  the  conduct  of  a  spendthrift  son,  that  at  the 
age  of  seventy-two  he  was  glad  to  accept  a 
situation  in  a  Bank,  which  he  kept  for  ten  years, 
and  then  was  pensioned  by  his  employers.  Ten 
years  longer  did  he  live  to  enjoy  the  bounty,  a 
very  partriaroh  of  art  and  letters,  and  at  length 
died,  in  1C79,  at  the  ripe  old  age  of  ninety-two. 

H. 

PEOVEEBS    OLD    AND    NEW. 
A  CLEAR  conscience  can  bear  any  trouble. 


MIXED    PICKLES. 

(Continued  from  page  62.) 

UNCLE  JACK  laughed  at  his  little  niece's 
fancies,  then  settled  himself  comfortably 
on  the  garden  seat,  lit  his  pipe,  and  went  on 
talking  between  the  puffs,  telling  his  promised 
story. 

UNCLE  JACK'S  STORY. 

'  Once  upon  a  time,'  began  Uncle  Jack,  '  since 
we  know  no  fairy  stories  are  worth  hearing  un- 
less they  begin  with  "once  upon  a  time." 

'  Once  upon  a  time  there  was  a  counti'y  ruled 
over  by  a  King  and  Queen  who  had  no  children. 
Having  no  children  of  their  own,  these  sove- 
reigns thought  other  people's  children  a  nuisance. 
I  am  afraid  they  were  like  the  fox,  who  said  the 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


67 


grapes  were  soiar  because  lie  could  not  reacli  them, 
for  it  was  well-knovrn  that  they  wanted  some  of 
these  "  torments"  very  badly  themselves. 

'  Don't  call  ns  tomrents,  Uncle  Jack,'  in- 
ton-ui3ted  his  little  niece. 

'  Well,  yon  see,  madam,  historians  mnst  be 
trnthfnl.  I  am  bound  to  say  that  the  King  and 
Queen  passed  a  law  in  which  the  children  were 
described  as  '■  Pickles,  Torments,  Plagues, 
Bothers,  Nuisances,  Worries,"  and  by  twenty- 
four  other  titles  of  respect  which  I  have 
forgotten.     Tliis  law  enacted, — 

'  First. — That  the  children  were  to  be  seen  and 
not  heard.  Wherefore  all  children  under  the  age 
of  sixteen  were  to  speak  in  a  whisper  and  laugh 
in  a  whisper.' 

'  They  couldn't,  Uncle  Jack  !'  broke  in  Eryda; 
'  they  could  only  smile  1' 

'  Or  grin,'  said  Uncle  Jack.  '  So  you  think 
<hat  a  cruel  law,  Bryda'?' 

'iSecondly. — As  the  sight  of  a  child  set  the 
royal  teeth  on  edge,  no  child  vras  to  be  allowed  to 
set  foot  out  of  doors,  unless  between  the  hours  of 
twelve  and  one  on  any  night  when  there  was 
neither  moon  nor  stars.' 

'  At  that  rate  tliey  would  never  go  out,'  said 
Bryda. 

'  Well,  you  see  this  was  a  law  for  the  abolition 
of  children  ;  so  they  were  to  be  suppressed  as 
much  as  possible,  of  course. 

'  Then,  Thirdly,  the  law  debarred. — That  as 
little  pitchers  have  long  ears,  no  child  should 
ever  hear  the  conversation  of  grown-up  people. 
Therefore  children  were  never  to  be  admitted 
into  any  sitting-room  used  by  the  elders  of  the 
family,  nor  into  any  kilcheu  or  room  occupied  by 
servants.' 

'U-o-ohl'  said  Bryda;  '  did  they  keep  them 
in  the  coal-cellar'?' 

'  In  some  houses,  perhaps. 

'  Fourthly. — Forasmuch  as  play  was  not  a 
profitable  occu])ation,  and  led  to  noise  and 
laughter,  all  plav-time  and  holidays  should 
at   once    be    abolished.' 

'  Tliat  was  a  very  bad  law,'  said  Bryda, 
warmly. 

'  Well,  the  law  was  passed,  and  was  soon 
carried  out ;  and  any  one .  coming  to  the  city 
^\■ould  have  thought  there  were  no  children,  so 
carefully  were  they  kept  out  of  sight.  All  the 
toy-shops  were   closed,   and  confectioners  were 


ordered,  under  pain  of  death,  neither  to  make  nor 
sell  goodies.  But  one  thing  the  King  had  for- 
gotten, and  that  was  that,  after  all,  there  were 
more  children  than  grown  people  in  the  country. 
One  family  had  nine  children,  another  six,  and 
so  on;  so  that,  counting  the  boarding-schools, 
there  were  just  three  times  as  many  children  as 
grown  pco]ile  in  the  capital.  So,  after  about  a 
week  of  this  treatment  (for  the  parents  were 
compelled  under  threat  of  instant  execution  to 
carry  it  out),  it  happened  that  there  came  a 
night  when  at  twelve  o'clock,  though  it  was  not 
raining,  there  was  neither  moon  nor  star  to  be 
seen.  So  all  the  children  in  the  city  rushed  forth 
into  the  park  with  Chinese  lanterns  in  their  hands, 
making  quite  a  fairy  gathering  under  the  trees. 
Oh,  how  delicious  it  was !  They  ran  and 
shouted,  and  played  games  and  laughed,  till 
suddenly  one  o'clock  struck ;  and  all  the  king's 
horses,  and  all  the  king's  men,  came  to  drive 
them  to  their  homes  again.  But  there  were 
hundreds  and  hundreds  of  children,  and  only  a 
few  soldiers  with  wooden  swords;  for  this  \mis  a 
very  peaceable  nation,  and  armed  even  its  police 
with  only  birch  rods.  But  one  of  the  biggest 
boys  blew  a  tin  trumpet,  and  called  all  the 
children  to  him. 

'  "  I  vote  we  rebel,"  he  said.  "  We  will  not 
stand  this  any  more  ;  let  us  drive  away  all  the 
grown-ups,  and  have  the  town  altogether  to 
ourselves." 

'  Now  it  so  happened  that  a  fairy  had  been 
watching  all  that  went  on  in  the  town,  and  was 
not  at  all  pleased.  So,  when  she  heard  this 
bold  boy  speak,  she  thona'ht  it  would  be  a 
good  thing  to  let  this  rebellion  be  carried  out. 
"  Serve  'em  right,"  she  said ;  "  young  and  old 
shall  all  learn  a  lesson." 

'  So  she  collected  a  few  thousand  fairies,  and 
they  flew  to  all  the  king's  men,  and  whispered  in 
their  left  ears  dreadful  things,  which  frightened 
them  terribly  and  made  them  believe  an  immense 
army,  instead  of  the  troops  of  children,  was  coming 
to  crush  tliem  all.  Then  the  fairies  whispered  in 
their  rig'.it  ears,  that  it  would  be  wise  to  fly  to 
a  neighbouring  mountain  where  there  was  a  large 
old  fort,  and  there  take  refuge.  So  they  galloped 
off  as  fast  as  the  king's  horses  would  carry 
them.  Then  the  fairies  flew  all  over  the  town 
and  whispered  the  same  things  to  all  the  grown- 
up people,  fathers  aud  mothers,  old  maids  and 


C8 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  .)-  oung. 


old  bachelors,  till  they,  too,  tumbled  out  of  bed, 
dressed  in  a  terrible  hurry,  and  fled  to  the 
mountain.  Even  the  King  jumped  out  of  bed, 
caught  up  his  crown,  and  ran  for  his  life  in  his 
dressing-gcmi ;  while  two  lords  in  waiting,  or 
gentlemen  of  the  bedchamber,  rushed  after  him 
with  the  royal  mantle  of  ermine,  and  his  sceptre 
and  golden  ball.  The  Lord  Chancellor  filled 
his  pockets  with  new  sovereigns  from  the  Mint 
(for  he  slept  there  to  look  after  the  money), 
and  then  he  too  ran,  but  rather  slowly,  for  he  had 
put  the  woolsack  on  his  back,  and  it  was  pretty 
heavy.     When  they  asked  him  why  he  took  the 


the  tin  trumpet  blew  it  again,  and  announced 
that  every  one  should  go  to  bed,  and  that  a 
meeting  should  be  held  at  twelve  o'clock  next 
day  in  the  park,  at  which  every  child  should 
appear. 

'  Appear  they  did,  in  their  Sunday  clothes, 
those  of  them  at  least  who  cared  for  finery;  there 
were  no  mothers  or  nurses  to  object.  AU  were 
in  great  delight  at  having  no  one  to  rule  them. 

'"  I  shall  never  go  to  bed  at  eight  I"  said  one. 

'"I  shall  never  eat  rice  pudding — horrid 
stuff!" 

'  "  I  shall  never  take  any  more  doses  1" 

'  "  I  shall  never  do  any  more  lessons  1" 

'  "Nor  1 1  nor  1 1  nor  1 1"  shouted  one  after 
another  :  "  we  shall  all  do  only  what  we  Uke  I 
How  happy  we  shall  be  1 " 

'  Only  one  little  maid  whispered,  with  a  tear 
trembling  on  the  long  lashes  of  her  blue  eyes, 
"  Dottie  wants  mother  I  "     But  Dottie  was  soon, 
comforted,  and  ran  about  as  merrily  as  ever. 
{To  be  continued.) 


trouble,  he  answered  that  he  thought  the  ground 
might  be  damp,  and  he  already  had  a  cold  in  his 
head. 

'  Well,  all  the  elders  being  gone,  the  children 
were  left  in  possession  of  the  city,  at  which  you 
may  well  suppose  they  were  greatly  astonished. 
They  went  on  with  their  games  for  a  while,  but 
then  the  lanterns  began  to  go  out,  and,  one  after 
■  another,  they  grew  veiy  sleepy.     So  the  boy  vsith 


FALSEHOOD. 

THERE  is  nothing  to  be  gained  by  falsehood 
but  the  disadvantage  of  not  being  beUeved 
when  we  speak  the  truth. 


GIVE. 

Theee  is  that  scatteretli,  and  yet  increaseth ; 
To  him  who  gives,  a  Blessing  never  ceaseth. 


SuNDA  Y  Reading  for  the  Young. 


69 


/^ 


/^ 


CRIPTURE      TILPHABET 


■  Cliiklren,  praise  the  N'ame  of  tlie  Lord.' 


We  adore  Thee,  0  A  Iplia    . 

The  endless  B  eginniu, 

The  C  hrist    . 

The  Son  of  D  avid    . 

The  E  verlasting 
Thon  art  our  F  ather   . 
"We  bless  Thee,  Lamb  of  (J  od 

Son  of  the  Most  H  ighest 
God  with  lis,  I  mmanuel 

0  blessed  J  esus     . 
Hail,  mighty  K  ing 
Hail,  holy  L  ord 
The  Man,  the  Messiah 
We  worship  Thy  N  ame    . 
The  Last,  the  0  mega  . 
We  praise  Thee,  Prince  of  P  eace     . 
Life-giver  and  Q,  uickeuer 
We  magnify  Thee,  R  edeemer 
Sweet  and  blessed  S  avionr 
We  confess.  Thee,  0  T  ruth    . 
The  One,  the  U  ndeflled 
Son  of  the  V  irgin   . 
The  Incarnate  Word 
The  highly  e  X  alted  . 
Who  reneweth  our  Y  outh    . 
The  Holy  One  of  Z  ion      . 
Jesus,  our  God       .     . 
Alpha  and  Omega     .     . 


.  Bev.  i.  8. 

.  Bev.  i.  8. 

.  St.  Matt.  xvi.  16. 

.  St.  Matt.  XV.  22. 

.  Isa.  ix.  6. 

.  Isa.  Ixiii.  16. 

.  St.  John,  i.  29. 

.  St.  Luke,  i.  32. 

.  St.  Matt.  i.  23. 

.  St.  Matt.  i.  21. 

\  Bev.  svii.  14. 

.  St.  John,  i.  41. 

.  Psa.  cxlv.  21. 

.  Kev.  i.  11. 

.  Isa.  ix.  6. 

.■  St.  John,  xi.  25,26. 

.  Isa.  liv.  5,  8. 

.  Isa.  xlv.  21. 

.     St.  John,  xiv.  6. 

J  1  Pet.  ii.  22. 

■  j^  Zech.  xiv.  9. 

.     St.  Matt.  i.  22-25. 

f  1  John,  i.  1. 
•  \  St.  John,  i. 

.    Philem.  ii.  9. 

.  T  Isa.  xl.  31. 

.     Zech.  ix.  9. 

.     1  John,  V.  5,  6. 
\  Bev.  xxii.  13. 

■  /  Isa.  xlviii.  12. 


'  I  have  thought  upon  Thy  Xame  in  the  night  season.' 


70 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


LEAVES  PEOM  NOBLE  LIVES. 

FRANCIS  JOSEPH  CAMPBELL. II. 

{Continued  from  p.  55.) 

UROPE    was    Ih: 
CampLell's    destina- 
tion, \Yliicb  lie  now 
visited  for  the  first 
time,  there  gathering 
all   the  information    he 
conld  in  the  great  cities 
of  that  continent  as  to 
the  best   appliances  for 
the   teaching   of  the  blind, 
raised  books,  map.?,  &c. 

Eetnrning    home    by 
London,  be  was  invited  to 
attend  a  tea-party  given  to 
the  blind  of  that  city.    Pro- 
"'""  bably   the   gentleman    who 

took  him  to  it  imagined  that  the  American 
teacher  wonld  be  struck  with  the  benevolence 
and  liberality  shown  in  thus  entertaining  a  con- 
course of  blind  pieople  ;  but,  if  so,  he  was  much 
mistaken.  The  three  or  four  hundred  poor  crea- 
tures present,  led  to  the  feast  by  their  wives, 
children,  and  dogs,  seemed  to  the  independent 
American  just  so  many  blots  on  the  great  city 
where  they  dwelt.  He  spoke  to  many  of  them, 
blind  beggars  with  placards  on  their  breasts, 
blind  hawkers  of  trifles  at  street  corners,  blind 
idlers  of  all  sorts ;  and  he  made  up  his  mind  that 
these  miserable  objects  of  charity  only  needed 
teaching  to  become  self-sustaining,  useful  mem- 
bers of  society.  But  who  was  to  be  their  teacher  ? 
The  American  v/ent  home  to  his  wife  that 
night  perplexed  and  distressed  ;  be  conld  not 
sleeji  for  dwelling  on  this  thought.  Never  mind, 
he  would  soon  be  back  in  America,  wliere  he 
could  forget  the  helpless  crowd  that  had  pressed 
around  him  in  the  old  world ;  his  return-tickets 
were  in  his  possession;  his  wife  and  he  were  due 
to  sail  directly  from  Liverpool.  But  no  I  he 
rose  in  the  morning  with  his  mind  otherwise 
bent;  he  woidd  stay  in  London,  and  do  the  work 
lying  close  to  his  hand,  the  bettering  of  the 
condition  of  this  crowd  of  helpless,  hopeless, 
English  blind. 

And  so  it  came  to  pass,  that  witli  the  assis- 
tance of  au  Englishman  well  known  for  his 
devotion   to   the   interests    of   the    blind,    Mr. 


Campbell  set  on  foot  his  school  at  Norwood. 
It  was  an  experiment.  He  fully  believed  that 
the  blind  can  be  made  self-supporting,  especially 
in  the  practice  of  the  art  of  music.  So  music 
held  a  forward  place  in  his  school. 

At  the  end  of  two  years  matters  assumed  so 
bright  au  aspect,  that  Mr.  Camj)bell  resolved  to 
take  a  large  house  on  the  hill,  then  vacant,  and 
establish  his  Blind  School  on  a  really  sti'ong, 
wide  basis.  The  Duke  of  Westminster  gave 
lOOOZ.  for  the  purpose,  and  '  The  Jlount ' 
was  secured.  This  is  the  beginning  of  that 
flourishing  inhtitution  noAV  serving  as  a  jiattcrn 
to  the  world,  the  Pvoyal  Normal  College  for  the 
Blind  at  Norwood. 

'A  most  pleasant,  comfortable,  and  pictur- 
esque building,'  says  a  ^^Titer  of  our  own  day, 
who  has  .  visited  the  spot,  and  calls  the  blind 
principal  her  friend,  'with  excellent  class-rooms, 
a  fine  music-hall,  a  playground  and  gymnasium, 
a  lake  used  for  s^^imming  in  summer  and 
skating  in  winter,  workshops  of  several  kinds, 
especially  for  the  tuning  and  making  of  pianos ; 
all  this  has  grown  out  of  the  small  school  in 
Paxton  Terrace,  and  through  the  indomitable 
perseverance,  energy,  and  pUick  of  one  man, 
the  little  Tennessee  lad  who  was  mourned  as 
blind  Joseph.  His  second  wife  (the  first  died 
soon  after  settling  in  England)  helps  him  in  all 
his  undertakings,  for  he  cannot  work  alone.' 

Has  the  school  proved  a  success  ?  \^'ell,  we 
have  only  to  turn  to  the  EeiDorts  to  read  the 
answer  to  this  in  the  bright,  hopeful  letters  of 
former  pupils,  now  busy  in  the  world  as  piano 
tuners  and  music  teachers,  many  of  them  not 
only  supporting  themselves,  but  caring  for  less 
fortunate  relatives.  The  list  is  a  long  one  of 
these  prosperous  youths  and  maidens,  and  Mr. 
Campbell  has  done  this— stretched  out  a  firm 
hand,  and  rescued  these  blind  ones  from  the 
forelorn  paths  of  beggary  and  helplessness. 

"'  In  all  these  ten  years,'  he  says,  '  we  have 
only  had  four  failures — two  because  they  came 
to  tis  too  old  to  learn,  two  because  they  began 
going  to  the  public-bouse.  No  strong  drink 
of  any  sort  is  allowed  in  the  college,  and  no 
smoking  ;  and  to  judge  by  the  happy,  healthy 
faces  there,  one  is  sure  that  these  two  things 
can  very  well  be  done  without.' 

Nor  are  the  blind  the  only  care  of  the  good 
prmcipal,  bis  heart  is  large  enough  to  take  m 


Sunday  Reaping  for  the  Young 


the  poor  of  tlie  world  without.  Having  a  fine 
music-liall  of  liis  own,  and  a  choir  of  sweet- 
trained  voices,  he  every  Sunday  evening  invites 
the  mechanics  and  labourers  and  cabmen  of  the 
neighbourhood  to  come  and  enjoy  themselves 
there  with  an  hour  of  sacred  music,  concluding 
^vith  a  short  address,  the  Lord's  Prayer,  and  a. 
hymn  in  which  all  join. 

Who  knows  but  that  those  who  come  simply 
to  stare  at  the  blind  folks  singing  out  of  their 
dai'kness,  may  go  awajr  with  their  hearts  touched, 
their  own  lives  directed  into  the  light  ? 

There  is  not  very  much  more  to  tell  of  the 
course  of  this  noble  life,  for  I  think  all  will  allow 
that  so  it  deserves  to  be  called,  with  its  one  aim 
of  serving  God,  and  benefiting  the  creatures  He 
calls  His  children. 

jMr.  Campbell  leads  a  happy  life  amongst  his 
flock ;  he  and  his  wife  and  children  live  in  a 
little  house  of  their  own  within  the  school  en- 
closure, his  '  eye,'  I  was  going  to  say,  over- 
looking everything ;  and  so  it  does  in  the  best 
sense,  though  he  is  the  blind  principal  of  the 
school. 


All  sorts  of  scholars  are  admitted,  and  all 
work  happily  together ;  of  course,  there  are 
many  out  of  the  lower  walks  of  life,  but  there 
has  also  been  a  princely  name  on  the  boote,  that 
of  a  young  cousin  of  our  Princess  of  Wales. 

Mr.  Campbell's  work  is  standing  well  as  years 
go  on ;  the  wise  and  great  of  the  land  recognise 
this,  as  well  as  the  friends  of  the  blind  lads  and 
maidens,  who  can  now,  thanks  to  their  careful 
training,  do  for  themselves  in  life.  ' 

The  last  thing  I  shall  tell  you  about  this 
energetic  blind  man  is,  that  he  has  climbed  to 
the  summit  of  Mont  Blanc,  a  feat  that  seeing- 
people  are  apt  to  think  a  formidable  achievement; 
he  is  certainly,  the  first  blind  man  who  has  ever 
gained  that  height. 

'  What  man  hath  done,  man  may  do,'  is'  an 
adage  which  he  has  stretched  to  take  in  the 
blind  also.  He  aims  high  in  all  things,  and 
few  of  his  arrows  fall  short  of  the  mark.  We 
who  are  not  blind  may  do  well  to  study  this 
remarkable  life,  learning  from  it  at  least  a 
lesson  of  perseveraiice  amidst  drawbacks  and 
difficulties.   .  Hahky. 


SIBRAH! 


THE  celebrated  Shepherd-poet,  Mr.  Hogg, 
relates  the  following  of  his  dog,  who  was 
for  years  his  companion  in  the  mountain  solitudes 
of  the  North. 

'  He  was,'  says  the  writer,  '  beyond  all  com- 
parison the  best  dog  I  ever  saw.  Of  a  surly  and 
unsocial  temper,  and  disdaining  all  flattery,  he 
refused  to  be  car'essed,  but  his  attention  to  my 
commands  and  interests  will  never  be  equalled 
by  any  of  the  canine  race. 

'  When  I  first  saw  him,  a  drover  was  leading 
him  by  a  rope ;  he  had  bought  him  of  a  boy  for 
three  shillings,  and  had  fed  him  very  httle  on  his 
journey.  I  gave  the  man  a  guinea  for  him,  and 
never  was  a  guinea  laid  out  so  well.' 

Then,  after  describing  the  manner  in  which  he 
taught  his  new  dog  to  herd  and  turn  the  sheep, 
Mr.  Hogg  goes  on  to  describe  what  was  the 
crowning  instance  of  Sirrah's  sagacity. 

One  dark  night  they  were  on  the  hills  together 
with  seven  hundred  lambs  to  care  for,  when  the 
flock  from  some  cause  unexplained  broke  up,  and 
scampered  off  across  the  hills  in  three  divisions, 
in  spite  of  all  the  shepherd  and  assistant  could  do. 


The  night  was  too  dark  to  see  the  dog,  but 
the  faithful  animal  heard  his  master  lamenting 
his  loss,  in  words  which  set  him  on  the  alert,  and 
he  silently  and  at  once  set  off  to  seek  the  scattered 
flock. 

Bleantime  the  shepherd  and  his  man  did  all  in 
their  power,  but  though  they  scoured  the  hills  all 
through  the  night,  they  could  find  no  trace  of  the 
lambs  or  of  Sirrah  ;  and  when  day  dawned  there 
was  nothing  to  be  done  but  to  return  and  rejDort 
the  loss  to  the  master. 

On  the  way  home,  passing  a  deep  ravine, 
called  the  Flesh  Clench,  they  saw  a  lot  of  lambs, 
and  Sirrah  standing  in  front  of  them,  true  to  his 
charge.  What  was  their  astonishment  when 
tliey  found  that  instead  of  being  a  portion  of  the 
flock,  as  they  supposed,  there  was  not  one  lamb 
wanting  of  the  whole  seven  hundred  ! 

How  he  had  got  them  together  in  the  dark 
passed  comprehension;  if  all  the  shepherds  of  the 
land  had  been  there  to  assist,  it  had  not  been 
done  bettsr  ;  and  Sirrah's  name  had  thus  come 
down  to  the  present  time  as  one  of  the  most 
famous  dogs  that  ever  lived. 


72 


SuNDAi  Reading  for  the  Young. 


\V      ^ 


Better  than  a  bimdred  shepherds. 


Sunday  Reading  hOR  the  Young. 


73 


On  the  Lonely  Shore. 


•74 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


ACROSS  LIFE'S   SEA. 

GROUPED  upon  the  lonely  shore  they 
stand, 
Watching  the  ever-shifting  sky, 
Shading  tlieir  eyes  -with  either  hand, 
In  dread  anxiety. 

The  boats  are  scattered  ty  the  wintry  gale, 

Perchance  engulfed  heneath  the  wave ; 
And  some  without  a  mast  or  sail, 
Drifting  home  to  land. 


Right  on,  O  Lord,  across  life's  troubled  sea. 
Straight  to  heaven's  shore, 
Wliere  \\'e  shall  weep  no  more. 
Looking  right  on  to  Thee. 

Fain  would  I  turn  aside  for  one  brief  hour ; 
Keep  Thou  my  sails 
Free  from  earth's  tlireatening  gales. 
By  Thine  almighty  power. 

Help  me  to  look  straight  on,  or  I  must  fail 
Through  the  dark  night, 
\Yith  the  shore  out  of  sight. 
Lest  evil  then  prevail. 

Soon  in  the  haven  of  heaven's  glorious  rest. 
With  sails  unfurled. 
Out  of  the  foeman's  range. 
Safe  from  his  keen  shafts  hurled, 

I  shall  no  longer  need  to  look  straight  on, — 
Free,  then,  my  sight  ; 
No  evil  thing  can  dwell 
Where  God  alone  is  Light. 


SOjME  men  fear  death  as  some  children  fear 
going  in  the  dark ;   if  tlie  heart  is  right, 
neither  need  fear. 


AT    THE    SCAFFOLD. 

HISTORY  relates  that  when  a  Bishop,  who 
had  been  condemned  by  Henry  VIII. 
to  be  beheaded  for  his  religion,  came  out  of  the 
Tower  of  London  on  his  way  to  execution,  and 
saw  tlie  scafibld  in  front  of  him,  he  took  out  of  his 
pocket  a  Greek  Testament,  and  loolring  up  to 
lieaven,  he  exclaimed,  '  Now,  0  Lord,  direct  me 
to  some  passage  which  may  support  me  through 
this  awful  scene.' 


He  opened  the  book,  and  his  eye  glanced  on 
the  words  :  '  This  is  life  eternal,  to  know  Tliee, 
the  only  true  God,  and  Jesus  Christ  whom  Thou 
hast  sent.' 

The  Bishop  closed  the  book,  and  said, 
'  Praised  be  the  Lord  1  this  is  sufficient  both  for 
me  and  for  eternitv.' 


MIXED    PICKLES. 

{Continued  from  page  68.) 

fEANTIME  the  elder 
boys  and  girls  hold 
a  veiy  noisy  Parlia- 
ment, in  which  there 
were  never  less  than 
five  speaking  at  once. 
After  a  great  deal  of 
chatter  they  deter- 
mined to  set  up  a 
Queen,  and  a  very 
pi'etty  little  girl  called 
May  was  chosen,  and 
crowned  with  a  crown  of  flowers. 

'Next,  Queen  31  ay  and  her  council  of  six,  three 
boys  and  three  girls,  ordered  that  a  big  bonfire 
should  be  made  of  all  lesson-books  and  pina- 
fores, for  they  thought  pinafores  were  signs  of 
an  inferior  state,  of  being  under  command,  as 
servants  sometimes  think  their  caps  are. 

'  The  next  law  was  that  all  the  raspberry  jam 
in  the  city  should  be  set  aside  for  tlie  use  of  the 
Queen  and  her  court,  and  for  those  who  were  in- 
vited to  the  royal  tea-parties.  There  was  a  little 
grumbling  about  this,  but  finally  they  gave  in. 
All  this  time  ti'oops  of  children  came  pouring  in 
from  the  neighbouring  villages  with  pinafores  on 
the  end  of  broom-sticks  as  flags  of  rebellion. 
Being  pretty  hungry  they  dispersed  for  dinner, 
which  in  most  of  the  houses  was  a  very  curious 
meal,  as,  of  course,  no  one  could  cook,  so  they 
had  to  forage  in  the  kitchens  and  store-rooms, 
while  bauds  of  hungry  young  folks  stormed  the 
confectioners'  shops  and  dined  off  ices  and 
wedding-cake. 

'  Then  they  opened  the  toy-shops  and  put  them 
in  charge  of  parties  of  children,  and  gradually 
the  other  shops  were  treated  in  the  same  way, 
for  buying  and  sclUng'  is  always  a  game  children 
like,  and  it  was  such  a  treat  to  have  real  things 
to  sell.  Only  money  was  such  a  trouble  :  they 
were  always  forgetting  to  bring  any,  and  the 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


72.; 


yonng  shopkeepers  never  were  stire  if  a  shilling 
or  a  sovereign  was  the  right  price  for  a  thing. 
Therefore  they  concluded  to  do  without  it ;  and 
costly  things  were  bought  for  kisses,  while  cheap 
ones  were  to  be  had  for  saying,  "  If  you  please," 
or,  if  they  were  very  small,  as  a  penny  bun,  for 
instance,  then  "  please  "  was  enough.' 

'  How  nice  1 '  said  Bryda. 

'  Well,  for  a  whole  week  there  never  was  such 
happiness  as  the  children  enjoj'ed.  Games  from 
morning  to  night,  bread  and  jam  three  times  a- 


boy  as  a  prisoner,  and  brought  him  to  Queen 
Slay's  feet, 

'  •'  What  is  the  charge  against  this  prisoner  ?" 
asked  the  Queen  with  dignity.  '•  Don't  all 
speak  at  once,"  she  added,  so  hastily  that  several 
courtiers  giggled. 

'  "  Please  your  jMnjeaty,"  said  a  boy,  stepping 
forward,  "  we  caught  him  in  the  act — tlie  very 
act—  of  learning  lessons  I" 

'  "  Lessons  1  "  cried  the  whole  court,  in  every 
tone  of  disgust,  anger,  grief,  and  dismay. 


day,  no  lessons,  no  forbidden  things,  and  a  Queen 
of  their  own  age  in  place  of  the  tyrant  King. 

'But  when  a  week  was  over  some  little  murmurs 
bagiin  to  arise.  Every  morning,  1  ought  to  say,  the 
Qneen  '  sat  on  her  throne  in  the  royal  palace,  to 
receive  any  of  her  subjects  who  liked  playing  at 
being  courtiers,  and  she  and  her  council  then 
settled  any  difficulty  that  arose  about  rules  of 
games,  about  the  way  to  make  the  best  toffee, 
and  any  other  important  question. 

'  Un  this  particular  morning  then,  rather  more 
than  a  week  after  the  establishment  of  the 
children's  kingdom-,  a  very  large  throng  entered 
the  Queen's  presence.  Foremost  came  a  troop  of 
boys  and  girls,  who  led  in  a  pale,  serious-looking 


'"  Lessons  I"  screamed  the  Queen,  and  at  once 
fainted  away. 

'  She  didn't  I '  interrupted  Bryda,  indignantly. 

'Don't  you  think  the  shock  was  great  enough?" 
asked  Uncle  Jack.  '  Besides,  she  felt  it  part  of 
her  royal  duty,  perhaps. 

'  Anyhow,  they  tickled  her  with  feathers,  and 
put  burnt  cork  to  her  nose  till  she  had  a  blnclc 
moustache ;  and  one  boy  brought  a  red-hot  ]iok^r, 
which  he  said  he  had  heard  was  a  good  thiiin', 
though  he  did  not  quite  know  how  it  was  applied. 

'  It  was  the  best  remedy  certainly,  for  at  sigiit 
of  it  the  Queen  jumped  up  shrieking,  and  de- 
clared she  was  perfectly  well.' 

(To  he  coiitiiiued.) 


76 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


\k\ 


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i 


.<^ 


^•^ 


L 


THE   PISH. 

PISCES,  whicli  is  the  Latin  word  for  a 
Fisli,  is  the  sign  for  February,  IjecaTise 
on  the  eighteenth  of  the  month  the  sun  enters 
the  sign  Pisces  in  the  zodiacal  belt. 

It  is  an  appropriate  emblem,  because  fish 
multiply  more  than  any  other  created  beings, 
one  hundred  thousand  young  being  a  small 
family  for  a  big  fish ;  and  so  it  aptly  indi- 
cates the  approach  of  spring,  when  all  nature 
is  about  to  burst  forth  into  new  life. 

The  Saxons  used  to  represent  this  month 
as  a  vine-dresser  pruning  trees,  or,  in  some 
instances,  warming  his  hands  by  beating 
them  across  his  body,  thus  picturing  the 
coldness  of  the  early  year. 

When  in  the  Zodiac  the  Fish  wheel  round, 
They  loose  the  floods  and  irrigate  the  ground. 
Then  husbandmen  resume  their  wonted  toil, 
Yoke   their  strong   steers,   and  plough   the 

yielding  soil ; 
Then  prudent  gardeners  seize  the  happy  time 
To  dig  and  trench,  and  prune  for  shoots  to 

climb. 
Inspect  their  borders,  mark  the  silent  birth 
Of  plants,  successive,  from  the  teeming  earth. 
Watch  the  young  nurslings  with  paternal  care, 
And  hope  for  '  growing  weather'  all  the  year. 
Yet  February's  suns  uncertain  shine. 
For  rain  and  frost  alternately  combine 
To   stop   the   plough,  with   sudden  wintry 

storms — 
And  often  fearful  violence  the  month  deforms. 


SuNDA  Y  Reading  for  the  Young. 


77 


The  News  arrhed  at  the  Nursery. 


78 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


'OUR    COUSIN"    WINNIE.' 

UST  think  liow  delightful, 
Floi'i'ie  I'  cried  both  Etliel  and 
Ted  in  one  breath,  as  they 
ran  into  the  nursery. 

Martha,  the  nurse,  was  sit- 
ting calmly  at  breakfast  with 
the  two  younger  children, 
Florrie  and  Baby  Nell,  Ethel 
and  Ted  Iiavlng  been  pro- 
moted to  the  honour  of  break- 
fasting downstairs.  In  a  mo  • 
ment  the  nursery  was  in  dire 
confusion  to  hear  the  wonderful  ne^^■s.  Nurse 
scolded ;  baby  laughed ;  w'hilo  the  otlier  three 
kept  dancing  round  the  room  clapping  their 
hands,  Florrie  exclaiming,  '  "What  is  it,  Ethel  ? 
What  is  it,  Ted  ?'  till  at  last,  in  breathless  haste, 
Ted  said,  with  an  air  of  importance,  '  Well,  father 
got  a  tek'gram  this  morning,  saying  that  Winnie 
and  Uncle  Fred  are  to  arrive  on  Saturday  night. 
This  is  Thursday,  so  father  is  to  set  off  at  once 
for  Southampton  to  meet  them  ;  and  still  better, 
Florrie.  What  do  you  think?  Mother  says, 
that  as  "VN'innie  is  coming  from  a  warm  climate 
she  is  sure  to  feel  London  rather  cold  at  first,  so 
we  are  all  to  go  to  the  Isle  of  Wight  at  once  for 
a  change.     Hurrah  I  hurrah  I  hurrah  1' 

Here  Ted's  uproarious  mirth  was  suddenly 
checked  by  what  he  thought  a  grim  look  on  the 
face  of  Martha.  So  in  a  more  subdued  tone  he 
repeated  his  last  words.  'Yes,  nurse,  we  are  all 
to  go.  I  am  not  to  be  sent  to  school  yet, 
though  yon  think  I  am  big  enough — don't 
you?' 

Nurse  answered  kindly,  '  Oh,  well,  Master 
Ted,  if  you  are  as  good  at  the  Isle  of  Wight  as 
you  have  been  here  for  a  week  past,  it  will  be 
much  nicer  to  have  you  Avith  us ;  you  are  not 
nearly  such  a  tease  to  your  sisters  as  you 
were.' 

Ted  was  comforted  by  this  kindness  of  nurse's, 
and  began  talking  of  what  they  would  do  in 
their  holidays. 

'  Here's  a  grand  chance,'  he  said,  '  of  sailing 
the  large  boat  I  And,  Florrie,  what  a  chance  for 
you  and  baby  gathering  primroses  in  the  woods  I 
for  mother  says  the  primroses  are  beautiful  there.' 
Florrie,  however,  seemed  to  be  troubled  about 
esmething,  and  at  last  she  said,  'But,  Ted,  how 


old  is  Winnie  ?  Will  she  think  us  babies,  or 
will  she  love  all  our  dear  dolls  ?  Perhaps  she 
will  always  sit  in  the  schoolroom  with  JMiss 
Weston.' 

Ted  could  hardly  answer  her  for  laugliing, 
and  said,  '  Just  listen,  Ethel.  Florrie  thinks 
Winnie  is  a  young  lady.  No,  no,  Florrie  ! '  he 
quickly  said,  seeing  the  tears  gather  in  her  broTSTi 
eyes  ;  '  Winnie  is  exactly  the  same  age  as  j'ou  are. 
And  pray,  what  may  that  be?' 

'Oh I'  cried  Florrie,  brightening  up,  'five 
years  old  next  month.  So  Winnie  and  I  shall 
be  twins,  and  keep  our  birthday  together.' 

Florrie  was  not  the  least  jealous  of  any  one 
sharing  her  birthday ;  it  was  only  an  extra 
pleasure  for  her  to  have  a  companion. 

The  little  Grays  were  the  merriest,  happiest 
children,  and  it  seemed  to  be  because  they  were 
not  selfish,  that  every  one  in  the  Gray's  house 
was  happy,  down  to  the  little  message-girl  in 
the  kitchen ;  many  a  kind  word  she  got,  and 
little  gifts  from  Ethel,  that  made  her  forget  she 
was  not  at  home. 

Winnie's  father  was  Sir.  Gray's  eldest  brother, 
a  judge  in  India,  and  his  youngest  brother, 
dignified  by  the  name  of  '  Uncle  Fred,'  was 
coming  home  on  leave,  bringing  Winnie  with 
him.  So  on  Saturday  night  everything  was  in 
readiness  for  the  travellers.  Baby  was  holding 
the  slippers  warm  and  cosy,  and  ready  with  a 
kiss  for  them  all.  The  other  three  '  pickles,'  as 
nurse  called  them,  were  jieeping  over  the  stairs 
in  breathless  anxiety. 

{To  he  continued.) 


'GET   OUT,  YOU  BEUTE!' 

ANY  j'cars  ago,  at  Boston,  in  America, 
a  jiarrot  that  had  been  taught  to  whistle 
in  exactly  the  manner  of  calling  a  dog,  \A-as 
sitting  on  his  cage  outside  a  shop-door.  As  he 
was  amusing  himself  with  his  whistle,  a  large 
dog  happened  to  be  passing,  and  he,  imagining 
that  his  master  called  him,  turned  sharp,  and 
ran  towards  the  place  whence  the  sound  came. 

Polly  ^^'as  not  prepared  for  this,  and  at  the 
critical  moment  screamed,  '  Get  out,  you  brute  '.' 
The  dog,  astonislied,  retreated  at  once,  leaving 
the  jiarrot  to  enjoy  the  joke,  which  Poll  did. 
with  several  chuckles  at  his  own  cleverness. 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


79 


GOD'S    PROVIDENCE. 

THE  wheels  of  a  watch  or  clock  do  not  all 
move  tlie  same  way,  some  go  contrary  to 
each  other,  yet  they  all  serve  the  original  pur- 
pose of  the  maker,  to  show  the  time,  or  stiike 
the  hours. 

So  in  God's  world :  Providence  seems  some- 
times at  cross-purposes,  sometimes  even  against 
God's  promises ;  yet,  in  truth,  it  is  all  working 
out  His  will,  the  great  ends  and  purposes  of  the 
ffood  Creator. 


MISSING. 

HE  51st  were  ordered  out  at 
twenty-four  hours'  notice  for 
foreign  service ;  the  war  was 
likely  to  he  a  big  one ;  more 
troops,  and  more  troops  still, 
were  wanted,  and  one  fine 
morning  the  51st  got  their  marching  orders. 

It  was  a  busy  time,  just  twenty-four  hours, 
^nd  the  actual  service  kits  and  baggage  had  to  be 
:served  out,  the  men  paraded,  good-byes  said, 
and  as  no  time  was  left  for  marching  by  road, 
"Waterloo  Station  at  7  a.m.  saw  the  regiment 
anustered  in  companies,  whence  they  were  dis- 
patched as  fast  as  was  possible  to  Portsmouth, 
Avhere  the  work  of  embarking  was  soon  com- 
pleted, and  by  sunset  the  white  smoke  in  the 
•distance  between  the  forts  was  all  that  v.'as  left 
to  tell  of  the  gallant  51st  on  their  way  to 
Egypt. 

Corporal  Tyson  was  among  them,  he  was  only 
■one  of  many  who  had  left  his  wife  and  bairn 
behind  him,  and  though  it  was  sad  work  the 
-.saying  good-bye,  there  was  hope  beating  high 
that  the  campaign,  if  sharp,  would  be  short,  and 
he  would  soon  be  home  again  to  comfort  Mary. 

Poor  Mary  1  she  felt  as  if  the  sun  would  not 
.shine,  and  all  her  happiness  was  gone. 

'  Ye'll  just  tak'  cai-e  of  her,  mither,'  said  the 
brave  lad,  when  he  wrote  to  his  mother  to  say 
his  wife  would  come  and  stay  with  her  a  few 
weeks,  with  her  babe ;  and  the  mother  took  her 
son's  wife  to  her  home  and  heart,  for  did  not 
they  both  mourn  one  far  away  ? 

The  sun  shone,  and  the  birds  sang,  but  Mary 
'Tyson's  heart  was  sad ;  she  could  take  little 
^pleasure  even  in  her  boy,  and  most  days  when 


the  weather  was  fine,  the  youngster  was  entrusted 
to  some  of  the  neighbours'  children,  to  play  in 
the  grassy  meadows  or  shady  woods  of  Home- 
de.an  village,  where  the  widow  Tyson  lived. 

The  young  corporal  was  no  trouble,  the  cliildren 
said,  and  it  gave  tliem  an  excuse  for  a  lioliday. 

Then  came  a  dark  day  indeed,  and  news  was 
flashed  along  the  wires  that  a  great  battle  had 
been  fought  and  won,  and  that  the  war  would 
soon  end.  The  fortress  had  been  taken  \-\'ith  very 
small  loss  on  our  side — a  mere  nothing ;  but,  small 
as  the  loss  was,  some  would  have  to  mourn,  and 
vv'idow  Tyson  was  among  the  number.  Not  in 
the  list  of  dead  or  wounded  was  his  name,  but 
below  in  the  official  roll  came  the  words, — 

'  Blissing — ^Corporal  Tyson,  51st  Foot.' 

The  days  passed  on,  but  no  tidings  came. 
Fears  became  certainty ;  the  field  of  battle  had  no 
hiding-places;  the  dead  were  buried,  the  wounded 
carried  to  hospital,  and  the  missing — nowhere. 
He  must  have  jDerished  imaided  and  alone. 

Two  widows  instead  of  one,  ahd.thi  corporal's 
boy  an  orphan.  ".*;,     '\ 

Months  after  there  came  to  Hoinedean  village 
one  of  Dan  Tyson's  old  comrades,  to  see  poor 
Mary  and  comfort  her.  She  looked  sad  in  her 
black  gown,  and  started  visibly  at  tlie  red-coat : 
it  was  almost  like  Dan  himself.  But  while  they 
sat  and  chatted  of  the  old  times,  and  the  chances 
of  the  war,  and  Harry  Smith  was  teUing  of  the 
fatal  days,  another  red-coat  passed  np  the  cot- 
tage path.  Yes — it  was  the  corporal  himself  1 
and  in  another  moment  she  was  sobbing  on  his 
neck,  her  dead  one  given  back  to  life. 

Then  the  story  was  told,  too  strange  not  to  be 
true,  how  he  was  wounded  in  the  first  rush,  struclc 
down  and  trampled  on,  and  how  he  was  carried 
off  a  prisoner  by  the  flyurg  rebels,  and  thus 
appeared  as  '  missing '  in  the  lists.  How  he  had 
known  nothing  of  this  until  he  had  arrived  home 
in  one  of  the  hospital  transports,  and  his  old 
comrades  told  him  of  his  reported  fate,  and  how 
Harry  and  he  had  got  leave  and  planned  to  go 
home  to  Homedean  together,  so  as  not  to  frighten 
poor  Mary  too  much  I 

Tlie  war  medal,  with  its  teUing  clasp,  looks 
handsome  enough  on  Serjeant  Tyson's  breast,  for 
he  has  got  his  step,  and  Mary  has  put  a  few 
smart  bows  to  her  black  dress  to  match  the  roses 
that  have  come  back  to  her  cheeks  since  he  is 


no  longer  '  missing.' 


H. 


80 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Voua 


■NO. 


The  Young-  Corporal, 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


81 


May's  Blossoms. 


82 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


T"    ITTLE  May,  witli  sunny  liair, 

\    J   Eyes  so  lull  of  glee  anil  gladness ; 
Hap]iy  she  beyond  compare, 
Little  doss  slie  know  of  sadness. 

May  Las  Leen  in  Durdnn  Wood, 
Uh,  the  beanty  of  the  flowers! 

She'd  liave  lingered,  if  she  could, 
All  tlio  golden  summer  hours. 

The  hedge,  a  sheet  of  snow-white  bloom. 
The  buttercups,  a  golden  spangle. 

And  tlie  nut  coppice  b}'  the  stream, 
A  wilderness  of  leafy  tangle. 


BLOSSOMING    TIME. 

A  thrnsh — oh,  sweet,  entrancing  sight! 
Was  softly  piping  in  the  hollow, 


And  as  it  took  its  airy  flight,    • 

Thought  May, '  Oh,\vonld  that  I  might  follow !' 

Mabel's  heart  is  beating  high, 

With  mirth  her  face  is  beaming  over, 

As  the  little  footsteps  fly 

Homeward  tln'ough  the  springing  clover. 

Homeward  to  the  tiny  cot 

With  her  fragrant  blossoms  laden. 

Who  is  gay,  if  she  is  not  ? 
Happj'-hearted  little  maiden'. 

D.  B.  McKean. 


THE    ANIMALS    OP    THE    BIBLE. 

TuE  Fox. 


'  In  the  rujged  copse,  in  the  ferny  brate, 
The  cunning  red  fox  his  den  doth  make ; 
In  the  ancient  turf  of  the  baron's  land, 
"Where  the  gnarled  oaks  of  the  forest  stand ; 
In  the  widow's  garden  lone  and  bare ; 
On  the  hills  which  the  poor  man  tills  with  care : 
Then  ages  ago  he  made  his  den. 
And  there  he  abideth,  in  spite  of  men.' 

THE  Fox.  and  its  near  relation  the  Jackal, 
are  both  found  in  Palestine.  It  is  very 
evident,  however,  that  the  Hebrew  word  shual, 
which  in  the  Bible  is  in  every  instance  rendered 
'  fox,'  very  often  refers  to  the  jackal.  The  same 
word  was  applied  by  the  Jews  to  both  fox  and 
jackal.  There  are  not  many  foxes  in  Syria,  but 
a  great  number  of  jackals,  as  in  other  Eastern 
lands.  That  the  jackal  is  meant  instead  of  the 
fox  in  various  places  of  the  Bible  may  be  gathered 
from  the  fact  that  these  animals  are  spoken  of  as 
going  about  in  companies,  which  the  foxes  never 
do,  thoug'li  it  is  the  jackal's  habit. 

It  is  a  remarkable  story  which  first  introduces 
us  to  the  fox  in  the  Bible.  In  order  that  Samson 
might  be  revenged  on  the  Philistines  he  caught 
three  hundred  foxes,  '  and  took  firebrands  and 
turned  tail  to  tail,  and  put  a  firebrand  in  the 
midst  betweentwo  tails.  And  when  he  had  set 
the  brands  on  fire  he  let  them  go  into  the  stand- 
ing corn  of  the  Pliilistines.' 

Jackals  hunt  in  packs,  and  Samson  might 
readily  have  captured  as  many  as  three  hundred 
of  these  animals :  there  would  have  been  great 


The 


difficulty  in   procuring   as  manj-  foxes, 
animals  meant  here  were  clearlj- jackals. 

It  was  an  artful  action  on  Samson's  part  to 
fasten  them  together  in  twos,  for  had  he  only  tied 
firebrands  to  single  animals  they  would  have  run 
oft'  to  their  holes,  and  would  not  have  doiie  much 
mischief.  But  as  the  jackals  were  in  pairs  they 
would  straggle  and  pull  different  ways,  and  so 
go  over  a  great  deal  of  ground.  Tliough  the 
Philistines  had  treated  the  Israelites  badly, 
Samson  ought  not  to  have  done  a  deed  so  spite- 
ful and  cruel,  for,  of  course,  the  poor  animals 
must  have  been  burnt.  We  never  hke  to  see- 
unkindness  shown,  especially  to  animals.  It 
is  far  better  and  nobler  to  be  generous  and 
forgiving  to  those  who  wrong  us,  and  tender  to 
the  dumb  creatures  that  need  our  pity.  A  little 
boy  said  to  his  brother,  'Eddie,  I'll  be  a  minister, 
and  preach  you  a  sermon.'  '  Well,'  said  Eddie, 
'and  I'll  be  the  peoples.'  Harry  began:  'My 
text  is  a  short  and  easy  one  :  "Be  Kind."  There 
are  some  little  texts  in  the  Bible  on  purpose  for 
little  children,  and  this  is  one  of  them.  These 
are  the  heads  of  my  sermon.  First,  Be  kind  to 
father,  and  don't  make  a  noise  when  he  has  a 
headache.  I  don't  believe  you  know  what  a 
headache  is ;  but  I  do.  I  had  one  once ;  and 
didn't  want  to  hear  any  one  speak  a  word. 
Second,  Be  kiiul  to  mother,  and  don't  make  her 
tell  you  to  do  a  thing  more  than  once.  It's  very 
tiresome  to  say,  "It  is  time  for  you  to  go  to  bed" 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


83 


half-a-dozen  times  over.  Third,  Be  kind  to 
baby.'  '  You  have  left  out  be  kind  to  Harry,'  in- 
terrupted Eddie.  '  Yes,' said  Harry  ;  'I  didn't 
mean  to  mention  my  own  name  in  my  sermon. 
I  was  saying  be  kind  to  little  Jlinnie,  and  lot 
her  have  your  red  soldier  to  play  with  when  she 
wants  it.  Fourth,  Be  kind  to  Jane,  and  don't 
scream  and  kick  when  she  washes  and  dresses 
you.'  Here  Eddie  looked  a  little  ashamed,  and 
said,  'But  slie  pnlled  my  liair  with  the  comb.' 
■'People  mustn't  talk  during  sermon,'  said  Harry. 


Fifth,  Be  kind  to  Kitty.     Do  wliat  will  make 
her  purr,  and  don't  do  what  will  make  her  cry.' 

'  Isn't  the  sermon  mo.st  done  ? '  asked  Eddie ; 
'I  want  to  sing.'  And  without  waiting  fov 
Harry  to  finish  his  discourse  or  give  out  a 
hymn  he  began  to  sing,  and  so  Harry  had  to 
stop. 

The  application  to  Harr}''s  boyish  sermon  is 
to  urge  you  to  try  the  magic  influence  of  kind- 
ness, and  see  how  imiversal  is  its  sway. 
(To  he  continued.) 


A: 


BUZ 
SPOILT  little  doggie, 


AND    CARLO:    A   TABLE. 


With  long,  curly  hair, 
Came  running  one  day 

Adown  tlie  hall-stair. 
Pie  was  combed  and  well  brushed, 

A  picture  to  see. 
Quite  ready  to  walk 

With  his  ladies  tliree. 

But  having  some  time 

On  Ids  hands  to  spare, 
He  went  to  see  Carlo, 

The  dog  who  took  care 
■Of  the  house  and  gardcn> 

To  keep  from  disaster, 
From  wicked,  bad  men, 

Who'd  rob  his  dear  master. 

'Old  Carlo  was  lying. 

Just  nibbling  a  bone 
That  Mollie  the  coo]<: 

So  kindly  had  thrown. 
So  Buz,  fine  doggie, 

Looked  scornfully  on 
At  Carlo  content,edly 

Eating  his  bone. 


He  said,  '  My  dear  friend, 

Do  you  not  envy  me, 
Walking  grandly  about 

With  my  ladies  three '? 
I  get  such  nice  food, 

Slado  ready  by  Sue, 
Tlie  housemaid  I  love, 

And  the  bones  come  to  you.' 

Then  Carlo  just  listened, 

And  said,  with  a  wink, 
'  Our  lots  are  more  equal 

Than  you'd  really  think. 
You're  kept  for  mere  show, 

And  barking  and  noise. 
While  I  guard  my  master 

Prom  bad  men  and  boys. 

Who'd  spoil  his  fine  trees 

With  many  a  stone  ; 
And  good  Mollie  knows 

I  love  a  fine  bone. 
So  don't  pity  me. 

And  I  won't  envy  you. 
While  each  of  us  can 

To  our  duties  be  true. 

Joanna  McKean. 


MIXED     PICKLES. 

[Continued  from  page  75.) 

THEN  the  Queen  proceeded  to  try  the  pri- 
soner, and  told  the  whole  court  to  act  as 
jury.  It  was  a  very  sad  case  of  youthful  de- 
pravity—the criminal  had  carefully  kept  this 
■one  book,  "  Somebody's  Arithmetic,"  or  "Mang- 
nall's  Questions,"  to  gloat  over  in  secret;  and 
«ven  now  was  not  at  aU  penitent,  but  declared. 


when  asked  what  he  had  to  say  for  himself,  that 
it  was  "  stupid,  and  a  bore,"  to  play  games  all 
day  long,  and  he  was  sick  of  them. 

'  The  jury  could  not  agree  as  to  what  was  to  be 
done  with  such  an  offender,  so  he  was  allowed  to 
go,  and  bidden  "not  to  do  it  again;"  and  the  Queen 
went  on  to  th(.  next  difficulty.  Here  the  throne- 
room  became  quite  full  of  children,  all  in  great 
lierplexity  ;  for  the  matter  was  this,  that  the 
food  supplywas  running  short.  The  confectioners' 


84 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


shops  were  nearly  empty;  tlierewas  jDlsnty  of  jam, 
but  Very  little  bread ;  and  one  or  two  boys,  who 
had  breakfasted  on  jam  out  of  a  pot,  eaten  with 
a  spoon,  said,  "  They  didn't  know  how  it  could 
be,  but,  somehow,  they  thought  it  did  not  quite 
agree  with  them." 

'  This  was  really  very  serious.  Could  no  one 
cook  ? 

'Well,  several  had  tiied  to  make  puddings; 
but,  somehow,  though  they  ought  to  have  been 
quite  right,  something  was  wrong,  and  no  one 
would  eat  them.     One  girl  had  bravely  made 


hildren 


and  baked  them 
she  could  not 
apple  in,  so 
balls,  and 
at  all. 


some   apple-dumplings, 

quite  brown ;  but  then 

find  out  how  to  get  the 

they  were  a  sort  of  hard 

not  real  apple-dumplings 
'  '•  What  are  we  going 

to  do?"  said  Queen  May, 

sorrowfully. 

'  A  dead  silence  reigned, 
' "  I  know  I "  said  a  boy,  called 

Eric,  starting  forward  suddenly, 

and  all  eyes  turned  to  this  owner 

of  a  bright  idea.      "  I  know ! "    he 


said,  and  brandished  a  many-bladed  knife ;  "  I'll 
kill  a  iHg !" 

'  A  murmer  of  horror  rose  from  all  the  girls. 

'  "  Oh,  no! "  said  Queen  May,  politely;  "  my 
faithful  subject,  we  will  not  let  you  make  your- 
self so  miserable." 

'"Oh,  /don't  mind!"  cried  Eric;  "really, 
you  know,  I  should  liJce  it !  " 

' "  I'll  hold  him  for  you  1 "  cried  several  boys 
eagerly. 

' "  Quite  as  if  they  liked  it,"  whispered  the 
girla. 

'  But  Queen  May  interposed,  and  said  the 
court  should  break  up  and  go  to  blind-man's- 
buff.  At  the  same  hour  next  day  any  one  who 
had  a  bright  idea  should  come  and  tell  it.  For 
the  rest  of  the  day  she,  at  least,  did  not  mean  to 
bother  her  head.     If  a  pig  were  killed,  it  would 


have  to  be  cooked.  And  shaking  her  curls, 
which  were  like  a  cro'\^'n  of  gold,  Queen  May 
jumped  off  her  throne  and  ran  out  into  the  park. 
'  Presently  the  Fairy  Set-'em- right  came  flying 
over  the  town,  and  saw  all  the  children  running 
about  and  shrieking  with  laughter. 

'  "  Bless  my  broomstick  I  "  she  said,  for  she 
had  borrowed  one  from  a  witch  to  fly  upon, 
saying  she  had  rheumatism  in  her  left  wing. 
"  Bless  my  broomstick,  this  won't  do  at  all  I " 
'She  did  not  notice  that  a  great  many 
were  standing  out  in  groups, 
whispering  what  they  dared 
not  say  aloud — that  they  were 
getting  tired  of  games  all  day,  and 
of  nothing  but  sweet 
cakes  and  jam  at 
meals. 

'"I  should  really, 
really  and  truly,  like 
some    boiled   mutton," 
eaid  Master  Archie,  who 
was   known  to  have   a 
special  dislike  to 
that  dish. 
'"I  know  what 
I  shall  do,"  said  the  fairy ; 
"  I  shall  make  these  children 
feel  like  grown-ups,  and  then  I 
shall  fly   off 
to  the  moun- 
tain, and  make 
the  grown-ups  feel  like 
children ;  and  if  tliat 
doesn't  bring  them 
to  their  senses,  I  am  sure  I  don't  know  what 
will.'" 

At  this  exciting  point,  a  servant  came  to  tell 
Uncle  Jack  that  grandfather  wanted  him,  and 
he  went  off  whistling,  promising  Bryda  the  rest 
of  the  story  '  next  time.' 

But  as  she  did  not  know  when  'next  time' 
would  be,  that  was  rather  provoking. 
(To  he  continued.) 


« 


A   LIE, 


A  LIE  is  like  a  fine  cloak  over  shabby  and 
dirty  under-garments ;  it  may  do  in 
calm  weather,  but  cannot  avoid  exposure  in  a 
gale. 


66 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


BORROWED    PLUMES. 

YOUNG  Mflster  Birkett  is  a  pickle,  I 
declare  I '  cried  Nurse  Simmons  to  lier  fel- 
low-servant, BIrs.  Grace,  wlio  was  tus^v  pre- 
jjariug  dinner,  wliicli  was  ordered  for  half- past 
six,  in  one  of  those  comfortable  big  liouses, 
sometimes  called  mansions,  in  Eussell  Square. 

'  I  can  well  believe  he's  a  handful,'  said  cook. 
'  He's  always  up  to  mischief  when  he  comes 
ilown  here,  and  I'm  thankful  when  he  gets  back 
again  to  the  upper  regions  without  cutting  his 
own  or  somebody  else's  head  off.  Such  a  young 
Turk  for  knives  I  never  saw.' 

jMaster  Birkett's  father  was  a  very  successful 
barrister,  with  plenty  to  do,  and  Q.G.,  which 
stands  for  Queen's  Counsel,  after  his  name, 
though  I  cannot  tell  very  well  Avhat  that  means. 
At  any  rate,  J.  Hayllar,  Escj.,  Q.C.,  was  looked 
ujJ  to  b_v  all  the  profession  as  a  rising  man,  and 
his  time  was  so  fully  occupied  that  the  little 
folk  at  Eussell  Square  saw  very  little  of  him. 

The  nursery  was  imder  the  control  of  Sim- 
mons, the  head  nurse,  and  sometimes  JMrs. 
Hayllar  came  in  and  tried  to  teach  some  of  the 
cldei's  a  lesson ;  but  the  noise  they  made  soon 
had  its  effect  upon  her  delicate  nerves,  and  drove 
her  back  to  her  own  room,  for  she  was  an  invalid. 

'  Julia,  my  dear,  do  not  scream  so.  Oh  I 
Birkett,  you  should  not  be  rude  to  your  sisters  ; 
you  must  be  obedient.     Come,  now.' 

These  were  the  usual  strains  in  which  tlie 
morning's  half-hour  of  work  began. 

One  fine  morning  young  Hopeful  was  missing. 
His  father  was  away,  busy  with  a  gTeat  trial 
going  on  at  a  northern  assize.  Mrs.  Hayllar 
more  than  usually  unwell,  and  lying  down. 
Nurse  trying  to  keep  the  children  quieter  in 
consequence,  and  succeeding  very  well.  Master 
Birkett  being  out  of  the  way. 

'Where  is  he?'  said  Simmons,  and  she 
begged  the  children  to  play  quietly  while  she 
went  to  look. 

Jane  had  not  seen  him,  Clarke  the  man- 
servant declared  he  had  not  been  downstairs 
at  all. 

The  thought  flashed  across  poor  Simmons, 
Perhaps  he  had  fallen  out  of  window  1  No  ; 
none  were  open.  Or  the  waterbut  I  But  no,  no 
Master  Birkett  there. 

Where  could  be  his  hiding-place  ?  She  dare 
not  go  to  mistress's  room,  for  fear  of  distressing 


lior  and  making  her  worse.  The  only  thing 
was  to  go  through  the  rooms  in  regular  order, 
and  search.  Dining-room?  Library? — No. 
Smoking-room?  Ah  I  there's  the  outer  entry,  or 
lobby,  used  as  a  sort  of  cloak-room. 

Nurse  afterwards  told  cook  she  thought  she 
should  have  gone  into  roars  of  laughter,  and 
only  the  thought  of  mistress  ill  upstairs  kept  her 
quiet. 

'  You  never  saw  such  a  young  image '.  I 
pushed  the  half-open  door  wider,  and  there  my 
gentleman  sat,  as  grave  as  a  judge,  if  you  please, 
in  master's  gown  and  wig,  and  lawn  bands  put 
on  as  properly  as  if  he'd  been  going  to  West- 
minster Hall,  and  with  one  hand  on  each  ai-m  of 
the  chair.  "  Now,  nurse,"  says  he,  with  not  a 
muscle  of  his  face  moving,  "  Now,  nurse,  have 
you  come  for  judgment  ?  I  shall  be  very  sorry 
to  punish  you,  but  you  will  have  to  jjay.  The 
law  says  so,  and  the  law  is  always  right."  And 
he  wouldn't  move  until  I  had  fetched  all  the 
young  ladies  down  from  the  nursery,  to  act  as 
jury  and  see  justice  done.' 

'That's  your  six-j'ear  old  young  gentleman', 
and  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  before  he's  half  as  old 
as  master,  he's  Lord  Judge  of  her  j\lajesty"s 
Court  of  something  or  other,  as  large  as  life.' 

'  You  must  pay  the  fine,  you  know,  nurse,' 
cried  all  the  children,  as  they  returned  upstairs. 

'  Well,  if  you  won't  make  a  noise,  I  will  this 
once;  but  never  again,  mind  you.'  And  she 
paid  the  penalty  with  a  paper  of  sweets 
and  a  plate  of  raisins,  which  enabled  the  chil- 
dren to  play  endless  games  of  courts  of  justice, 
and  to  pay  coimsel's  fees,  and  fines,  and  com- 
pensation for  imaginary  law-suits,  until  dinner- 
time came.  Sigsa. 


EVERYBODY'S    CORNER. 


THIS  great  name  of  God,  signifying  ' I  am 
that  I  am,'  was  always  invested  with  a 
peculiar  sanctity.  It  is  thought  that  the  Jews 
kept  it  as  a  wonderful  and  mysterious  secret 
among  themselves,  and  never  used  it  in  their 
intercourse  with  the  heathen. 

There  is  a  tradition  that  it  was  heard  but 
once  a-year,  when  it  was  uttered  by  the  High 
Priest  in  the  Holy  of  Hohos  on  the  great  day  of 
Atonement. 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


87 


In  the  public  reading  of  tlie  Scriptnvcs  it  was 
■never  pronounced;  but  another  Divine  name, 
less  awful  and  august,  was  uttered  in  place  of  it. 
Tliis  reverence  entered  into  the  scribes'  work  of 
copying  the  Scriptures,  for  when  they  came  to 
the  sacred  name  of  God,  Jehovah,  having  written 
the  word  they  cut  the  pen  in  pieces  that  it  might 
never  write  another. 


THREE   ONES. 

OsE  hour  of  to-day  is  worth  tv/o  of  to-morrow. 
One  wrong  step  may  give  j'ou  a  great  fall. 
One  might  as  well  be  out  of  the  world,  as  be 
loved  by  nobody  in  it. 


'OTJB    COUSIN"  WHSriTIE.' 
(Concluded  from  page  78.) 

T  last  the  can-iage 
drove  up  to  the 
door,  the  bell  pealed 
through  the  house, 
and  '  Uncle  Fred '  dashed 
upstair^  with  a  bundle  of 
wraps  and  fur  in  his  arms. 
Mr.  Gray  followed,  and  all 
the  children  began  cla- 
mouring for  lasses,  till  all 
at  once  it  seemed  to  dawn 
upon  them  that  Uncle 
Fred's  bundle  was  moving  ; 
and  sure  enough,  when  the 
wraps  were  taken  off  by 
degrees,  there  was  Winnie, 
wakened  out  of  a  sound 
sleep,  looking  at  them. 

'Oh'.'  cried  Ted,  'she 

is  a  darling  1 ' 

'  See  ! '  ciicd  Etlicl,  '  she  looks  so  like  Florrie  1 ' 

And  then  they  all  tried  to  kiss  her,  till  the 

poor  little  damsel  was  almost  alarmed.     But  she 

opened  her  heart  at  once  to  their  endearments, 

and  was  soon  at  home  with  them  all. 

Next  week  they  set  off  for  Sandown,  Mr. 
Gra}'  having  secured  a  house  there  qiiite  close 
to  the  sea ;  and  day  by  day  the  colour  came 
into  "Winnie's  pale  cheeks. 

The  days  seemed  far  too  short  for  all  the 
pleasures  they  had.  One  day  it  would  be  a 
picnic  into  the  woods,  to  gather  primroses  and 


«.n . 


ferns,  ending  with  a  gipsy  tea;  then  another  day 
Uncle  Fred  would  take  tliom  all  in  a  boat  to  see' 
the  large  vessels  coming  up  the  Channel.  One 
evening,  just  before  bed-time,  Ethel  took  out  a 
box  of  figures,  which  Uncle  Fred  had  given 
them,  and  they  had  great  fun  with  the  shadows 
on  the  wall,  and  this  proved  an  endless  amuse- 
ment to  the  children  when  the  lamp  was  lighted. 

There  was  just  one  thing  that  made  them  sad 
for  a  time ;  but  as  it  only  serves  to  bring  out  the- 
usually  loving  character  of  the  little  Grays,  I 
must  tell  it.  The  laundress,  who  did  up  all  the- 
linen  for  their  mother,  was  an  old  servant  of 
hers,  and  lived  in  a  cottage  not  far  from  them. 
She  was  a  hard-working,  good  woman,  with  ai 
delicate  husband  and  many  little  children.  Her- 
eldest  daughter,  Fanny,  a  very  dear  girl,  whom 
all  the  little  Grays  knew  and  loved,  was  in  a. 
place  in  London,  and  one  morning  a  letter  came 
telling  her  mother  that  she  was  lying  sick  of 
fever  at  the  hospital.  Her  mistress  was  very 
kind  in  sending  things  for  her,  but  was  not. 
allowed  to  see  her. 

One  evening  Mrs.  Curtis,  the  laundress,  was- 
■up  speaking  to  Mrs.  Gray  about  her,  and  the 
children  had  heard  her  say  how  much  she  would, 
like  to  go  and  see  Fannj',  but  could  not  afford  it ; 
so,  after  a  little  consultation  amongst  themselves, 
they  came  to  their  mother,  and  said  that  they 
wished  to  give  all  the  pocket-money  they  had  if 
father  would  make  uj}  the  sum  to  piay  Mrs. 
Curtis's  fare  to  London  and  back.  Father  was- 
only  too  glad,  so  next  morning  saw  Mrs.  Curtis- 
off  in  the  train,  looking  so  happy,  and  smiling 
to  the  children. 

She  found  Fanny  very  ill,  biit  the  doctor  had' 
great  hopes  she  would  get  well,  and  said,  when 
quite  better,  a  change  home  would  be  the  best 
thing  for  her.  So  before  the  Grays  left  San- 
down they  had  the  pleasure  of  welcoming  Fanny 
back,  and  seeing  her  getting  stronger  day  by 
day.  The  children  had  given  up  a  good  many- 
plans  they  had  formed  by  parting  with  their- 
money ;  but  it  was  done  in  such  a  sweet,  loving- 
way,  they  seemed  to  think  it  a  real  pleasure. 

Their  dear  mother  must  have  told  thei-n  of 
the  self-sacrificing  love  of  Jesus,  and  that  loving- 
all  His  creatures  is  the  doing  of  His  will.. 
Winnie  had  found  a  very  happy  home,  and 
asked  Uncle  Fred  to  tell  her  mother  so  when  he- 
went  back  to  India.  Joanna  McKean. 


88 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


Uncle  Fred's  Shadows. 


Sunday Readixc  for  the  Young. 


89 


iW 


1  ^  I  JlBPlIi* 


Wca!     W'oa!"' 

N 


90 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


FREDDIE'S    BIRTHDAY. 

FREDDIE  lived  in  a 
lieautiful  house,  with  a 
garden,  orchard,  and 
lawn.  The  grounds 
were  entered  by  a  fine 
old  gate,  which  had 
hriglit  green  ivy  grow- 
ing np  over  it.  Then 
on  the  outside  there 
was  a  nice  gravelled 
walk^  which  led  round 
the  margin  of  a  lake 
full  of  white  water- 
lilies.  Two  swans 
sailed  mojestically  on 
the  surface,  and  a 
number  of  little  water- 
hens  paddled  up  and 
down,  and  built  their 
nests  on  the  edge,  or  on  the  island  in  the  middle 
of  the  late. 

The  day  Freddie  was  six  years  old  his  mother 
said  he  might  have  a  holiday,  and  invite  his 
two  little  friends,  Eosie  and  Maud  Verner. 
The  long-wished-for  day  arrived  at  last,  and  as 
the  sun  shone  brightly,  they  were  allowed  to 
have  their  games  out-of-doors,  and  enjoy  the 
fine  weather. 

As  it  was  Freddie's  birthday,  he  got  his 
choice  of  what  he  would  like  to  do,  so  he  thought 
he  would  tie  the  two  little  girls  together,  and 
drive  them  like  a  pair  of  horses,  like  he  had  seen 
his  father's  coachman  do. 

Eosie  and  Maud  were  delighted,  and  they 
chose  to  run  round  the  gravelled  walk  by  the 
lake.  Off  they  set  round  and  round.  'Woal 
woa  1 '  cried  Freddie,  for  he  was  beginning  to  be 
tired;  'Woal  woal'  But  on  they  ran  hand  in 
hand,  laughing  with  glee  that  they  were  such 
disobedient  horses. 

Freddie  cracked  his  whip,  to  see  if  that  would 
frj jliten  them ;  but  not  a  bit.  Off  they  wont 
again,  roimd  and  round,  till  at  last,  quite  tired 
out,  they  stopped  obediently  at  the  gate. 

The  afternoon  was  still  bright  and  warm,  and 
Ealph  the  gardener  was  ready  to  take  Freddie 
and  his  little  friends  out  in  a  boat  on  the  lake. 
This  was  a  great  treat  to  Eosie  and  Maud,  who 
had  never  been  in  such  a  tiny  boat.  They  were 
to  land  on  the  island,  and  perhaps  might  see  the 


nest  of  a  little  water-hen.  They  fed  the  swans,, 
who  followed  them  for  the  biscuits  which  they 
flung  to  them  in  the  water.  Then  they  landed 
on  the  island,  and  Eosie  looked  about,  with  her 
bright  keen  eyes,  to  try  and  be  the  first  to  see  a 
nest. 

'Ohr  she  cried,  'I  am  sure  this  is  one.'' 
Bnt  Ealph  said, '  It  was  only  a  heap  of  rubbish.'' 
When  he  was  touching  it,  he  said,  '  Miss  Eosie,. 
here  is  a  real  nest  quite  near,  and  it  has  five  oi- 
six  eggs  in  it.' 

Oh,  how  anxious  they  were  to  put  it  in  their 
hands,  which  they  did  very  gently  1  And  wliat 
a  cosy,  warm  nest  it  was,  built  among  loose 
stones  and  water-weeds  1  They  did  not  stay 
long,  in  case  of  friglitening  the  mother  bird. 
So  they  gathered  some  lilies  and  tall  bulrushes 
to  take  home,  and  had  much  to  tell  of  their 
happy  time  in  the    boat.  J.  McK. 


TWO    LITTLE    EEBHS. 

NESTLING  close  together 
Upon  the  castle  wall. 
Two  tiny  ferns  put  forth  their  leaves, 

So  tenderly,  so  small  I 
Unseen,  unnoticed,  there  they  grew. 
Two  little  j)lants,  of  sweet  '  Wall  rwe.' 

They  did  not  pine  to  be 

Admired  and  praised  by  all, 
If  only  left  to  beautifj^ 
The  grim  old  castle  wall ; 
And,  peeping  o'er  the  dizzy  height. 
They  flourished  in  the  glad  sunlight. 

Each  of  us  in  our  place 
Can  help  to  do  God's  will. 
And,  though  unnoticed  by  tlie  world. 

We  shall  be  happy  still, 
Contented  with  our  lot,  and  glad 
If  we  can  cheer  the  poor  and  sad. 

JO.A.NNA  McKeau. 


THE   TRUE    GOD. 

TWO  gentlemen  were  once  disputing  about 
Jesus  Christ,  as  the  Son  of  God,  being 
God  Himself. 

One  who  argued  against  it  said, 'If  true  and 
intended  for  us  to  understand,  it  would  have  been; 
stated  more  clearly  in  the  Bible.' 

Said  the  other,   '  Suppose  you  were  told  to- 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young 


91 


tsacli  it,  and  allowed  to  use  your  ffwri  language, 
liow  would  you  express  the  truth  iu  words  so 
that  there  should  he  no  doubt  about  it  at  all?' 

'  I  should  say  that  Jesus  Christ  is  the  true 
God.' 

'  You  are  happy.'  replied  he,  '  in  your  choice 
of  words,  I'or  you  have  happened  upon  the  very 
expression  which  the  Bible  gives.  St.  John, 
speaking  by  inspiration  of  the  Eternal  Sou,  says, 
'  Thh  is  the  true  God,  and  eternal  life."' 


I.IIXED     PICKLES. 

(Continued  frovi  page  84.) 
CHAPTER    VII. EEPPO. 

>  RYDA  sat  still  where  Uncle  Jack  had  left 
her,  thinking  over  his  story. 

'  You  see,'  she  said  to  herself  (Brj-da  had  a 
funny  way  of  calling  herself  '  my  dear '  when 
she  talked  to  herself,  and  often  told  herself 
"  stories,  or  read  herself  little  moral  lectures  as 
Miss  Quillnib  her  governess  used  to  do) ;  '  You 
see,  my  dear,  the  thing  is  this,  When  any  one 
tells  a  story  they  can  make  things  happen  so 
that  there  shall  always  bo  a  good  moral.  Now 
I  am  sure  that  town  in  the  story  would  be  a 
very  nice  place,  but  Uncle  Jack  is  sure  to  make 
everything  go  wrong  1 ' 

Here  nurse  came  and  carried  Miss  Bryda  off 
for  a  walk.  They  went  through  the  village, 
and  old  Eoger  was  at  his  work.  The  house- 
door  was  ojjcn,  and  he  nodded  a  pleasant  '  Good- 
day.' 

Bryda  lingered  a  moment. 

'  Isn't  this  a  nice  day,  Eoger  ?  '  she  said. 

'  Ay,  ay,  little  Miss,'  answered  the  carpenter, 
'it's  one  of  the  Lord's  own  days.  He  doesn't 
give  us  too  many  of  them,  for  fear  we'd  get  too 
fond  o'  this  ]ilaco,  and  not  be  in  a  hurry  to  go 
to  our  Father's  House.' 

I^urso  had  stopped  to  talk  to  the  blaclcsndth. 
It  was  funu}',  but  she  always  had  something 
special  to  tell  the  blacksmith;  and  he  would  keep 
a  horse  waiting  ever  so  long  to  be  shod  while  they 
talked,  though  really  they  never  seemed  to  say 
anything  very  interesting. 

However,  Bryda  knew  she  would  have  some 
time  to  herself,  so  she  walked  into  old  Roger's 
cottage,  and  sat  down  on  a  bench  among  saw- 
dust and  shavings. 

'  I  suppose  you  are   very   poor,   aren't  you, 


Roger  ?  '  she  asked,  after  watching  him  silently 
for  some  time. 

'  Poor,  missy  ?  Well,  maybe  some  folks  'ud 
think  so,  but  there's  no  man  in  the  village 
richer  for  all  that  I ' 

'  Then  why  don't  you  live  in  a  grander 
house?' 

'  I'll  go  to  my  grand  house  by-and-by,  missy,' 
he  answered,  fixing  a  screw  carefully.  '  Ah  I  a 
grand  house  that  is  indeed  '.  It's  making  ready 
for  mc  all  this  time  ;  but  when  once  I  go,  I'll 
not  come  back  liere  again  1 ' 

'I  should  think  notl'  answered  Bryda,  looking 
round  the  poor  cottage.  ■  Is  it  a  jjalacc,  Roger?' 
Bryda's  idea  of  a  palace  was  something  very 
splendid, — golden  tables,  and  silver  chairs,  and 
everything  else  to  match. 

'  Ay,  you  may  well  call  it  a  palace  !  There's 
no  house  hereabouts  would  match  that  home,' 
answered  Roger,  in  his  cheery  voice. 

'  Does  any  one  else  live  there  ?  " 

'  Plenty  1  All  my  brothers  and  sisters,  the 
children  of  the  King.' 

'MissBrydal  MissBrydal  Yoii  troublesome 
child  1'  called  the  nurse's  voice.  '  Come  along  this 
minute  I  wherever  have  you  got  to  ?  p>oking  in 
them  low  places.'  Nurse  did  not  think  the  forge 
a  low  place  though,  but  Bryda  was  obliged  to  go. 

'  Nurse,'  she  said,  when  that  worthy  person 
had  done  scolding,  '  do  you  know,  I  am  sure 
I  may  go  and  see  that  old  carpenter,  for  he  is 
not  a  common  man  at  all,  but  a  prince  in 
disguise.     Only  fancy  I    Just  like  a  fairytale'.' 

'  Fairy  grandmother  ! '  said  nurse,  who  was 
not  in  the  best  of  tempers ;  and  they  went  on  for 
some  way  in  silence  through  the  village. 

A  little  outside  the  village  stood  a  neat  white 
house,  in  which  the  doctor  lived,  and  in  front  of 
this  a  woman  in  an  Italian  dress  was  turning 
the  handle  of  a  barrel-organ,  whilo  a  hand- 
some boy  of  five  or  six,  or  perhaps  older,  for 
he  seemed  small,  but  had  an  old  look  in  his 
face,  stood  holding  a  little  tin  mug  to  collect 
pennies.  There  were  no  pennies  in  it ;  the 
woman  looked  dreadfully  pale  and  ill,  and 
coughed  without  stopping,  and  the  child's  big, 
black  eyes  looked  very  sorrowful.    ■ 

The  doctor's  sei'vant  came  out  of  the  white 
house,  and  roughly  ordered  them  away,  with 
abuse  which  shocked  Brj'da  to  hear. 

Evidently  the  kind  doctor  was  not  at  home. 


92 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


for  he  would  have  been  sony  for  the  poor  sick 
woman,  who  was  tiying  to  earn  a  few  pence, 
when  any  one  who  was  better  off  would  have 
been  in  bed,  carefullj^  nursed. 

Bryda  had  a  pennj^ ;  she  meant  to  buy  sugar- 
candy,  but  she  dropped  it  into  the  little  tin,  and 
was  rewarded  by  a  bright  smile  on  the  little 
face,  and  '  Tank  you,  Signorina  ;'  by  which  the 
little  boy  meant,  'Thank  you.  Miss.'  That  was 
nicer  than  sugar-candy. 

'  I  can't  abide  furriners,'  said  nurse.  '  Aren't 
there  any  little  white  children  for  you  to  give 
your  money  to.  Miss  Bryda,  and  not  encourage 
those  outlandish  folks  to  beg  ? ' 

Bryda  did  not  answer  ;  she  was  wondering  if 


the  Lord  would  think  her  penny  of  any  use  for 
His  poor.  It  was  a  very  little  coin,  but  it  was 
all  she  had  then.  It  would  buy  a  bit  of  bread, 
and,  perhaps,  one  of  the  '  few  small  fishes '  was 
not  worth  much  more. 

As  they  came  home  again,  Biyda  saw  the 
same  woman  and  child  toiling  along  the  road  in 
front  of  them,  entering  the  village  again. 

The  woman  staggered  under  the  weight  of 
her  barrel-organ ;  she  seemed  very  faint  and 
weak ;  either  she  must  be  very  iU,  or  she  had  had 
no  proi">er  food.  Perhaps  both  misfortunes  were 
hers. 

A  baker's  man  went  riding  by  with  some 
loaves  in  a  basket.  As  he  passed  the  Italian 
woman  the  horse  seemed 
frightened,  either  at  her 
white  sleeves  or  at  the 
instrument  she  carried, 
andBryda  saw  him  bound 
violently  and  throw  one 
of  the  loaves  out  upon 
the  road.  The  baker  did 
not  miss  it,  and  rode  on 
faster,  beating  his  horse. 
But  the  little  Italian 
boy  sprang  at  it ;  and 
Bryda  felt  sure  he  was 
cruelly  hungry  from  the- 
way  in  which  he  seized 
the  bread  and  put  it 
to  his  mouth.  He  did 
not  bite  it  though,  but 
changed  his  mind ;  but 
ran  to  his  mother  and 
held  it  out. 

'  Madre  mia,  pane  1  ■■ 
he  cried.  (My  mother, 
bread'.). 

[To  be  continued.) 


THE   TINKER  PREACHER   OF  ELSTOW. 


THE  Pilgrinis  Progress  is  a  book  that  few 
children  do  not  know,  and  the  more  they 
get  to  know  and  understand  of  that  wondrous 
picture  in  words,  the  greater  will  be  the  plea- 
sure in  hearing  and  reading  something  about 
the  man  who  wrote  it — ^John  Bunyan,  the 
tinker's  son. 

He  tells  113  himself,  for  he   wrote   his   own 


history,  that  he  was  a  very  wicked  young  man' 
and  knowing  only  how  to  read  and  write,  he 
grew  up  from  childhood  caring  for  little  but 
what  was  bad.  Then  he  married  a  good  young 
woman,  who  tried  to  lead  him  to  a  better  life ; 
and  her  influence,  together  with  some  merciful 
escapes  from  death  which  he  experienced,  wrought 
an  entire  change  in  him. 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


93 


Bunyan's  Wife  pleading-  for  him. 


94 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


Even  when  he  was  only  seventeen,  in  1645, 
lie  was  a  soklier  in  the  wai's  of  the  King  and 
Pavlianient,  and  at  the  siege  of  Leicester  he, 
■\-ery  httle  more  than  a  boy,  was  ordered  out  for 
sontiy  duty.  One  of  his  comrades  was  anxious 
to  go  instead  of  Bunyan,  and  was  permitted  to 
ilo  so.  He  was  shot  down  tliat  very  day  at 
his  sentinel  post. 

This  and  other  circumstances  so  impressed 
the  young  soldier,  that  by  the  time  peace  had 
dawned  upon  the  land  he  was  a  changed  man, 
and  went  about  preaching  from  1653  to  1G60, 
when  he  was  cast  into  Bedford  prison,  y.nd  re- 
mained there  for  six  years  a  prisoner  for  con- 
science sake,  supporting  his  wife  and  family 
by  making  tagged  laces,  when  not  at  work  or 
preaching  to  his  fellow-prisoners ;  for  even  then 
lie  was  writing  those  books  which  have  made 
his  name  famous — the  greatest  of  all  being  the 
Pilgrims  Progress. 

While  lie  was  in  prison,  his  poor  \\\(e  never 
ceased  her  endeavours  to  procure  his  release. 
Several  times  did  she  present  a  petition  dra\Mi 
up  by  her  husband  to  her  husband's  judges,  and 
once  even  she  threw  herself  before  Chief  Justice 
Hale  to  implore  him  to  do  vvliat  ho  could  for  the 
jirisoner,  whose  only  fault  was  tliat  of  preaching 
the  Gospel. 

John  Bunyan  had  a  little  blind  daughtei',  and 
we  can  picture  the  scene  in  Bedford  jail,  where 
the  happy  tinker  would  receive  his  wife  and 
children,  and  hear  all  that  they  had  to  relate  to 
him  of  their  efforts  to  effect  his  release ;  and 
with  liis  little  girl's  hand  locked  in  his,  would 
read  portions  of  the  wondrous  story  of  Christian 
pressing  onwards  towards  the  heavenly  city, 
undaunted  by  the  treacherous  Slough,  or  the 
hill  Difficulty,  or  the  giant  Despair.  And  we 
can  think  how  the  little  child's  face  would  light 
up,  as  she  listened,  with  those  i-.pturned,  sight- 
less eyes,  to  drink  in  her  father's  voice. 

Having  been  released  from  prison,  he  con- 
tinued to  minister  for  sixteen  years  amongst 
tliose  -who  loved  him  well ;  and  his  last  act  was 
a  deed  of  kindness  for  a  friend,  in  which,  having 
to  ride  to  London  in  heavy  rain,  he  got  a  chill, 
which  brought  on  fever,  and  in  ten  days  John 
Bunyan  ^\■as  dead.  But  his  name  \\\\i  live  in 
the  Pilgrim's  Progress,  which  has  been  trans- 
lated into  more  languages  than  any  other  book, 
except  the  Bible.  H. 


SHOES,   OB    NO    SHOES? 

MISSIONAEY   in  one   of  the 
American  States  got  together  a 
number  of  the  poor  children  of 
the  district,  and  formed  a  Sun- 
■Ci^^^^Si)'   ^^^  School.     He  tried  hard  to  get 
Sa-wvste^      Qjjg  pQQj.   couple   to   let   their  son 
come    to    school,    and    after   niucli 
persuasion  the  utmost  they  would 
jaromise  was  to  leave  it  to  the  boy 
himself. 
'  I've  got  no  Bible,'  said  he. 
'  We'll  give  you  a  Bible.' 
'  But  I've  got  no  coat.' 

'  We  will  give  you  a  coat,'  added  the  good 
man. 

'  But  I've  got  no  shoes.' 
'  Well,  you  can  go  barefoot,  can  you  liot?' 
'  I  will  if  you  will,'  quickljr  rejoined  the  boy. 
'  Done  1  it's  a  bargain,'  was  the  reply. 
The  next  Sunday,  walking  to  school,  boots  on 
as   usual,   the  missionary   spied  the  youngster, 
who  called  out  as  soon  as  he  saw  him,  '  Ah  1  I 
knew  you'd  go  back,  master  I' 

Quick  as  thought  the  missionary  drew  off  his 
boots,  then  his  stockings,  tucked  them  into  the 
boots,  and  then  led  the  boy,  fairly  won  over, 
into  the  school. 

But  the  happy  scqiiel  is  better  still.  Twenty- 
five  years  after  there  came  a  letter  from  the 
Sandwich  Islands.  It  was  from  the  early 
mission  scholar,  now  preaching  to  ths  natives  of 
those  Southern  isles ;  and  the  old  missionary, 
bent  and  gray  with  the  weight  of  years  and 
toil,  was  made  glad  by  the  words  of  love  'and 
hope  from  him  he  had  rescued  when  r.  boy. 


THE    A2TIMALS    OF   THE   BIBL3. 

Tub  Fox. 
(Concluded  from  p.  83.) 

YOU  have  seen  a  fox  stuffed,  if  not  alive, 
and  you  Imow  it  is  something  like  a  dog, 
but  more  slender,  and-\Aith  a  pointed  nose;  and 
a  tail — sncli  a  tail!  It  is  called  a  brush,  because 
it  is  so  thick  and  bushy.  And  what  is  more, 
it  really  does  what  a  brush  or  broom  might  have 
to  do. 

The  fox  is  not  without  his  enemies,  and  on 
sandy  or  snowy  ground  he  would  often  leave  his 
footprints  behind  him,  and  in  this  way  would 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young.  ' 


95 


easily  bo  traced  Ly  his  pursuers.  But  tlie  "brr.sh. 
as  it  sweeps  along  the  ground  after  him,  sweeps 
away  the  footmarks  too,  and  so  nobody  knows 
which  rlirootion  Foxy  has  taken  I 

At  least  oidy  one  creature  has  any  chance  of 
Icnowing — the  dog  can  trace  the  fox  by  its 
scent. 

The  common  fox  of  our  own  country  is, 
doubtless,  a  l-'alestine  species,  and  its  cunning- 
is  A  famili:iv  trait  to  everybody,  insomuch  that 
it  has  passed  into  a  proverb,  '  Sly  as  a  fox.' 

Our  Lord  sets  forth  the  duplicity  of  Herod  by 
comparing  him  to  a  fox  :  '  Go  ye  and  tell  that 
fox '  (St.  Luke,  xiii.  32).  Such  language,  which 
may  seem  strange  to  us,  is  very  usual  in  the 
East,  their  customs  allowing  great  freedom  of 
speech.  And  we  learn  from  history  that  Herod 
was  a  sly  and  deceitful  prince,  who  might  well 
be  said  to  be  fox -like. 

Another  passage  in  which  the  burrowing 
habits  of  the  fox  are  alluded  to,  we  can  hardly 
read  without  feeling  deeply  how  much  Jesus 
endured  for  our  sakes,  for  He  Himself  said, 
'  Foxes  have  holes,  and  the  birds  of  the  air  have 
nests ;  but  the  Son  of  man  hath  not  where  to  lay 
His  head.'  It  is  a  well-known  habit  of  the  fox 
to  have  a  hole,  also  called  an  '  earth.'  To  this 
hole  the  fox  runs  when  alarmed,  always  taking 
care  not  to  go  straight  to  it,  and  here  he  rests 
when  not  in  want  of  food.  In  this,  too,  the 
mother  fox  hides  her  cubs  or  puppies,  making  for 
them  a  snug  nest  of  leaves  and  grass. 

All  day,  unless  disturbed,  master  fox  lies  snug 
and  quiet  in  his  den,  but  when  twilight  comes 
he  begins  to  think  about  his  supper.  So  he  peeps 
out,  and  then  creejDS  stealthily  along  under  tiie 
hedge,  and  under  the  paling,  jumps  over  the 
lowest  part,  finds  a  broken  board  in  the  hen-house, 
and  helps  himself  to  the  best  and  tenderest  of  the 


chickens.     Hear  what  a  favourite  authoress  says 
about  this  habit  of  Master  Foxy: — 

'  He  skulks  like  a  creature  of  ill, 
And  comes  out  when  midnig-lit  is  dark  and  still; 
When  the  dismal  owl,  with  his  staring-  63-6, 
Sends  forth  from  the  ruin  liis  screeching  q.\\. 
And  tliy  bat  on  his  black  leathern  wincfs  goes  by; 
Then  out  comes  the  fox  with  his  thievish  mind, 
Looking  this  way  and  that,  before  and  behind. 
Tlien  running  along,  thinking  hut  of  the  theft, 
Of  the  one  little  hen  the  poor  widow  has  left ; 
And  he  boldly  and  carelessly  passes  her  shed. 
For  he  knows  very  well  she  is  sleeping  ia  bed, 
And  that  she  has  no  dog  to  give  notice  of  foes  ; 
So  he  seizes  his  prey,  and  home  leisurely  goes.' 

There  is  one  other  point  we  may  mention  in 
connexion  with  the  fox,  and  that  is  its  great 
fondness  for  fruit.  Allusion  is  made  to  this  in 
the  Song  of  Solomon  (ii.  15),  '  Take  us  the  foxes, 
the  little  foxes,  that  spoil  the  vines:  for  our  vines 
have  tender  grapes.'  The  vineyards  of  Palestine 
were  well  protected  on  purpose  to  keep  out  the 
foxes.  Sometimes,  however,  a  tiny  hole  would 
not  be  noticed  by  the  vineyard-keeper,  and  then 
the  fox  would  be  sure  to  find  it  out.  But,  per- 
liaps,  he  is  too  big  himself  to  get  through  such  a 
small  gap,  so  he  sends  for  one  of  his  little  ones 
and  puts  him  up  to  the  idea,  and  the  '  little  fox' 
creeps  in  and  spoils  all  the  tender  grapes. 

Ah  1  beware  of  the  'little  foxes'  —  I  mean 
'little  sins,'  as  you  might  think  them;  'little' 
sulky  fits,  'little'  hasty  words,  'little'  turnings 
from  the  right  path — tlie  path  cf  duty.  These 
are  the  things  which  creep  in  and  spoil  the  tender 
fruits  which  your  young  hearts  were  about  to 
bring  forth.  Pray  to  God  to  help  you  to  drive 
out  the  'little  foxes,'  and  then  you  will  never 
be  troubled  with  the  larger  ones.  T.  S. 


CHARLIE. 


CHARLIE  sits  like  grandpapa 
In  his  own  high  chair. 
Wondering  what  is  in  his  mug 
With  a  serious  air. 

The  big,  big  C  that's  painted, 
Charlie's  meant,  that's  clear : 

A  present  on  his  birthday 
From  his  sister  dear. 


Charlie  is  not  always  still 

Like  a  little  mouse, 
But  romps  and  gallops  wildly 

Up  and  down  the  house. 

Then  his  bright  eyes  close  in  sleep. 

Till  the  morning  sim 
Wakes  him  up  to  merry  play, 

Full  of  glee  and  I'un. 

Joanna  McKeajt. 


96 


SuNDA  Y  Reading  for  the  Young. 


Charlie. 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


97. 


In  his  glory. 


98 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


IfATTJHE'S    CHILD, 
BOY  AND  MAN. 

ANY  years  ago  there 
lived  with  his  parents 
on  the  borders  of 
one  of  the  northern 
counties  of  England, 
a  child  who  was  a 
puzzle  to  father, 
mother,  school- 
master, clergyman, 
and  the  village 
generall}'. 

'  I  cannot  make 
anything  of  John,'  his  mother  said  one  day  ; 
'he's  never  happy  unless  he's  at  play,  and  he 
never  plays  like  others,  it  is  always  at  some- 
thing too  old  for  him.' 

'There  never  was  such  a  boy  for  sport,'  they 
remarked,  when  he  was  a  little  older.  'There's 
nothing  that  he  doesn't  know.  He  can  tell  a 
hare  sitting  in  her  form  at  the  other  end  of  a  field. 
He  knows  how  to  set  a  trap  for  a  mole,  and  can 
find  a  partridge  nest,  or  a  trout-pool  in  the 
river,  better  than  any  ;  and  he's  never  more 
happy  than  when  the  farmer  is  breaking  in  his 
colts  that  he  maj'  watch  the  fun,  and  learn  all 
the  points  of  a  horse.  But  books  I  ah  I  books 
were  never  intended  for  John.  No  I  he  never 
learnt  a  lesson  out  of  books ;  never  could,  and 
never  did.' 

Yet  John  was  not  ignorant ;  he  managed 
somehow  to  listen  to  other  people,  and  retain 
what  he  beard,  and  so  he  was  not  exactly  a 
dunce. 

See  him  at  six  years  old,  with  a  lot  of  other 
boys  down  at  the  brook  to  fish.  They  couldn't 
catch  thoni,  even  if  there  were  any  there  ;  but 
Johnny  coidd,  and  Avhile  their  bottles  and  cans 
were  empty,  his  sticklebacks  and  millers'  thumbs 
were  as  tine  and  as  lively  as  could  be ;  and  plenty 
of  them,  too,  to  be  kept  alive  in  the  waterbutt  at 
home  for  weeks. 

John  was  Nature's  child,  hers  was  the  book  he 
best  could  read ;  see  him  later  on,  lying  on  his 
back  in  the  meadow  by  the  church,  counting 
the  stars,  and  mapping  them  out  with  beads 
and  bits  of  cotton  in  a  regular  plan,  while  he 
listened  to  the  nightingale  in  the  neighbouring 
copse. 


See  him  later,  when  he  should  have  been  at 
school,  scouring  the  hedgerows  for  eggs;  scaling 
the  church  tower  for  jackdaws'  nests  ;  with  the 
best  collection  of  butterflies  and  birds"  eggs  to  be 
found  for  miles  around,  and  thoroughly  well  up 
in  the  art  of  stuffing  a  stoat  or  a  bat,  or,  indeed, 
anything  else  in  natural  history  that  he  could 
come  across. 

Yet  one  peculiarity  belonged  to  Jolm,  neither 
bird  nor  beast  was  ever  held  captive  by  him ;  he 
would  rollick  as  a  boy  with  the  cattle  in  the 
clean  farm-yard  straw;  he  would  run  miles  as  a 
youth  to  get  a  fresh  specimen  of  a  moth;  he  would 
sit  for  hours,  still  as  a  mouse,  to  watch  the  rabbits 
playing,  or  a  bird  building  her  nest,  but  never 
in  cage  did  John  keep  one. 

No  wonder  at  twenty  he  was  to  be  found 
breaking  in  horses  in  the  plains  of  South  America. 
Still  less  that  at  thirty  he  should  be  coming  home 
with  a  collection  of  natural  history  specimens, 
worth  manj'  thousands  of  pounds.  Perhaps 
before  he  dies  he  will  be  a  famous  man,  this  little 
Johnny  of  ours,  and  we  in  Dovedale  shall  be 
proud  to  own  the  boy,  who  never  could  leani 
anything  except  out  of  Nature's  book-^Nature's 
child,  boy  and  man.  Xav. 


A   FRENCH    CONSCRIPT. 

I  HEN  Napoleon  I.  was  Emperor, 
a  Conscription  was  made  for  the 
army,  and  a  poor  fellow,  with  a 
wife  and  family,  who  was  drawn, 
was  fortunate  enough  to  procure 
a  man  to  tiike  his  place  ia  the 
ranks  as  his  substitute.  The  latter  went  to  the 
field  of  battle,  and  was  killed  in  the  very  first 
;  ction. 

kiuuu  after  this  another  draft  was  ordered,  and 
the  name  of  the  same  man  was  drawn  again. 
He,  however,  refused  to  go  out.  Said  he,  '  I 
am  free  from  the  Conscription  ;  I  sent  a  sub- 
stitute into  the  army,  and  he  was  killed, 
therefore  I  am  as  a  dead  man.' 

The  case  was  disputed,  and  went  before  the 
French  judges,  ^^•ho  decided  that  in  law  the 
man  was  free. 

The  Emperor  ha;l  accepted  I'.is  substitute, 
and  could  not,  thtrefore,  enforce  a  second  claim 
upon  him. 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


90 


ONLY   ON   SUNDAYS. 

A  BOY  and  girl  stood  opposite  a  city  churcli, 
and  peered  in  at  the  entrance  gates. 

Boij.  '  I  should  like  to  go  and  play  in  that 
church.' 

Girl,  with  the  I-know-everything  tone  of 
voice.  '  No  I    Nobody  niay  do  that.' 

Boy.  'Why  not?' 

Girl.  '  Because  that's  where  people  go  to 
church.     God  comes  there  1 ' 

Boi/,  w'ith  a  decided  accent  on  the  words, 
'  Why,  God  only  comes  there  on  Sundays ! ' 

This  conversation  was  heard  by  the  writer, 
and  the  speakers"  ages  together  could  not  have 
been  more  than  ten  years.  Many  older  folks  fall 
into  the  same  mistake. 


MIXED     PICKLES. 

{Continued  frovi page  92.) 

fHE  lad's  mother  looked  at  the 
loaf  of  bread  for  a  moment — 
only  a  moment  ;  then  she 
sbook  her  head,  and  spoke 
to  the  child  in  Italian.  The 
baker  had  stopped  at  a  house 
by  the  roadside ;  the  boy  was 
off  like  the  wind,  and  soon 
came  up  breathless,  and  handed 
him  the  loaf. 
The  bal-ev  was  a  kind-hearted  man,  and  gave 
the  child  a  roll,  with  which  he  ran  back  to  his 
mother.  Then  he  tore  it  in  two  and  offered  her 
the  large  half,  beginning  at  once  to  munch  the 
other  himself.  The  mother  took  a  little  of  the 
piece  he  had  given  her,  but  she  seemed  too  faint 
and  weak  to  eat  more  than  a  moutliful. 

By  this  time  Bryda  and  her  nurse  had  over- 
taken them. 

'  Little  boy,'  said  Bryda,  shyly,  all  her  pity 

being  roused  by  the  scene,  '  where  do  you  live  '?' 

The  child  was  not  shy  ;  he  looked  her  full  in 

the  face  with  his  big  black  eyes  and  pointed  to 

the  village. 

'In  honse-yesterday-next  day,'  he  said  in  his 
broken  English. 

'  You  are  living  there  for  a  few  days,  are  you  ? ' 
asked  Bryda,  puzzled. 
The  boy  nodded. 
'  Do  tell  me  your  name  ?'  she  asked  again. 


'  Beppo,  Signorina.' 

Here  nurse  again  interposed.  She  was  a 
cross-grained  ^vonlan,  very  faithful  to  her  duty, 
but  had  little  sympathy  to  spare,  and  did  not 
at  all  approve  of  '  Miss  Bryda's  notions,'  about 
caring  for  the  poor. 

'  When  you  get  your  governess  and  plenty  of 
lessons  to  do,  you  won't  be  so  anxious  about 
them  low  creatures.  Miss,'  she  told  Bryda. 
'  Learn  to  play  times  on  the  piano,  and  paint 
pictures  like  other  young  ladies,  that's  what 
you've  got  to  think  about.' 

But  poor  little  Bryda,  though  she  often,  as  we 
have  seen,  got  into  trouble  and  mischief  (for  she 
was  not  at  all  a  model  little  girl),  did  really 
want  to  serve  the  Lord  Jesus,  of  whose  great  love 
she  had  learnt,  and  her  great  wish  was  to  know 
what  a  little  girl  could  do  for  Him. 

The  Lord  Jesus  was  always  heljiing  the  poor, 
and  she  knew  His  faithful  servants  did  the  same, 
so  it  was  a  sad  puzzle  to  her  to  find  such  treat- 
ment as  Moll  Dawson's,  when  she  tried  to  do 
some  good.  Perhaps  Uncle  Jack  was  right, 
and  she  ought  not  to  have  tried  to  do  what  was 
only  grown  people's  work. 

But  here  was  this  little  Italian  boy.  He 
looked  sad,  and  seemed  hungry  and.  very  poor, 
and  his  mother  was  so  ill.     How  sad  it  all  was  I 

Bryda  knelt  by  the  window  when  she  came 
home,  and  looked  up  at  the  beautiful  blue  sky, 
where  a  happy  lark  was  singing  so  high  up  he 
ought  to  be  nearly  at  the  doors  of  heaven. 

'  Our  Father,'  she  prayed,  'let  me  help  Beppo 
a  little,  for  Jesus  Christ's  sake.' 

And  the  little  prayer  of  '  one  of  His  little 
ones'  went  straight  to  the  ear  of  the  loving 
Eather,  Who  is  always  more  ready  to  hear  than 
we  to  pray ;   and  very  soon  it  was  answered. 

God  has  so  much  work  for  hands,  and  brains, 
and  tongues,  and  feet.  In  this  world  a  child 
who  loves  '  helping  mother '  can  do  many  a 
little  thing  for  her,  and  the  work  is  sooner  done, 
because  of  such  small  helps.  And  so  the  great 
Father,  Who  uses  the  little  dewdrops  to  water 
His  world,  will  give  to  every  happy  willing- 
worker  something  to  do,  little  w'orks  for  the 
little  ones,  more  to  His  great  angels,  and  at  last 
His  heaven  shall  be  full  of  '  servants '  who 
'  serve  Him '  and  see  His  face,  and  are  never 
sorrowful,  or  stupid,  or  tired,  or  disappointed  ia 
anj'thing  any  more. 


100 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


When  BryJa  had  asked  God  to  let  lier  lielp 
Beppo  she  felt  much  happier.  She  would  talk 
by-and-by  to  Cousin  Salome  about  him. 

Meantime  she  had  the  greatest  of  all  treats, 
for  in  the  afternoon  Uncle  Jack  was  going  to 
drive  in  his  dog-cart,  with  Paddy  in  the  shafts ; 
and  the  pace  at  which  Paddy  went  was  what 
Uncle  Jack  called  '  greased  lightning.'  Any- 
how, it  was  something  very  different  from  the 
solemn  jog,  jog,  jog,  one,  two,  three,  four,  one, 
two,  three,  four,  of  Gog  and  Magog,  when  the 
grannies  took  her  out,  and  old  John  dozed  on 
the  box. 

'  It's  so  dull  to  have  to  drive 
alone,'  said  Uncle  Jack  at  lunch, 
with  a  heavy  sigh,  but  with  a 
queer  twinkle  in  his  eye. 

'  Call  for  Captain  Tomkins,  and 
take  him  out,'  said  grandmother. 

'  I'm  so  shy,'  answered  Uncle 
Jack,  sadly.  '  But  if  I  could  find 
a  young  lady,  a  very  young  lady 
of  about  eight  or  so,  to  come  with 
me 

'  Oh  !  Uncle  Jack,  take  me  .' ' 
burst  out  Bryda.  And  go  she 
did ;  and  best  of  all,  when  they 
were  fairly  started.  Uncle  Jack  lit 
a  big  cigar,  and  between  the  pitffs 
went  on  with  his  fairy  tale.  This 
was  how  he  told  it : — • 

CHAPTER  VIII. THE  REST  OF 

THE  STORY. 

'  So  the  Fairy  Set-' em-right  waved 
her  hand  over  the  troop  of  children. 
"  You  shall  all  feel  like  grovsai-up 
people,"  she  said. 

'  In  a  few  minutes  a  strange  change 
began  to  come  over  them  all.  A 
great  game  of  "blind-man's-buff" 
was  going  on,  when  suddenly  several 
of  the  girls  put  themselves  into  veiy  stiff, 
solemn  attitudes,  just  like  .old  maids,  and  said, 
■'  Really,  they  thought,  they  were  almost  afraid 
they  could  not  play  any  more.  Such  games, 
especially  at  their  time  of  life,  were  hardly  quite 
proper."  So  they  would  not  go  on.  Others, 
again,  declared  that  there  was  nothing  they  so 
thoroughly  enjoyed  as  watching  people  playing 
at  these  kind  of  amusements ;  but  for  themselves 


— well,  if  the  others  did  not  mind,  they  would 
like  just  to  sit  quietly  and  watch.  So  they  did, 
and  presently  some  of  the  boys  began  stroking 
that  part  of  their  faces  where  a  moustache 
might  some  day  grow,  and  remarking  that 
"Haw!  don't  Iniow,  you  know — a — this  sort 
of  thing  was  all  very  well  for  schoolboys,  but 
really — a — we  could  not,  you  Imow." ' 

This  sentence  Uncle  Jack  brought  out  with  a 
veiy  funny  drawl,  the  boys  being  turned  into 
dreadfully  fashionable  fellows. 

{_To  he  continued.) 


HUMILITY   IS   SAFE. 

As  the  storm. 

That  makes  the  high  elm  crouch  and  rends  the 

oak, 

The  humble  lily  spares.     A  thousand  blows 

That  shake  the  lofty  monarch  on  his  throne. 

We  lesser  folk  feel  not.     Keen  are  the  pains 

Advancement  often  brings.     To  be  secure, 

Be  humble  ;  to  be  happy,  be  content.      ^t 

^'•'  HURDIS. 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


101 


THE  RIDDLE   OP    THE  YEAR. 


THEEE  is  a  father  with  twice  six  sons;  these 
sons  have  thirty  daughters  a-piece,  partly 
coloitred,  having  one  cheelc  white  and  the  other 
black,  who  never  see  each  other's  face,  nor  live 
ahove  twenty-four  hours. 

This   riddle,  which  is  so  easy  to  guess,  is 
attributed  to  Cleobulus,  one  of  the  seven  wise 


men  of  Greece,  who  lived  about  570  years  before 
the  birth  of  Christ. 

Riddles  are  of  very  ancient  origin,  the  oldest 
of  which  we  know  anything  is  that  in  Judges 
xiv.  We  are  told  by  Plutarch,  that  the 
girls  of  his  time  worked  at  netting  or  sewing, 
and  the  clever  ones  made  riddles. 


HAPPY    SUNDAY    AFTERNOONS.— No.    II. 
WSAT   DOES    THE    BIBLE    SAY   ABOUT    THE   HORSE? 

An  easy  Exercise  for  little  learners  to  write  or  say  from  memory. 


THE 

ALL  day  I  play  my  tunes, 
.   Wearied  though  I  be 
Of  the  harsh  discordant  sounds : 
No  one  cares  for  me. 

Little  ones  in  happy  homes, 

Think  of  me  to-day ; 
From  my  sunny  Italy 

Banished  quite  away. 

From  the  mother's  gentle  kiss, 
Pressed  upon  my  brow: 


ORGAN   BOY. 

From  the  tender  loving  words, 
Hushed  for  ever  now. 

Still  the  same  unending  clang. 

No  soft  music's  voice. 
Like  the  home  song  that  I  love. 
Bidding  me  rejoice. 

Though  I  can  no  sweet  sounds  bring, 

Give  me,  pence  I  pray  ; 
Pit}'  still  the  organ  boy 

Whom  you  drive  away.  Reho. 


102 


Sunday Readixc  for  the  Young 


WONDEBFUL  ESCAPES. 

SAMUEL  PEOCTOE. 

i\HEN  quite  young  Samuel 
Proctor  enlisted  as  a  gren- 
adier of  the  1st  Regiment 
of  Foot  Guards.  He  was  a 
God-fearing  man,  and,  with 
others  of  the  same  regiment,  rnet  together  to 
read  and  pray.  Samuel  always  carried  a  Bible 
in  one  pocket  and  his  hymn-hook  in  the  other. 

On  the  plains  of  Waterloo,  in  ISlo,  the  English 
army  were  encamped.  The  1st  Regiment  of 
Guards  on  the  IGth  June  was  ordered  to  ad- 
vance and  dislodge  the  French  from  a  wood 
which  they  had  taken,  and  whence  they  kept  up 
a  galling  fire  upon  the  Allies. 

Samuel  went  forward  with  his  regiment,  and 
suddenly  was  thrown  a  distance  of  three  or  four 
yards  by  some  object  striking  his  hip,  but  which 
he  could  not  explain  at  the  time.  However,  as 
soon  as  he  drew  his  Bible  from  his  pocket,  he 
discovered  that  a  musket-ball  had  struck  it,  and 
gone  more  tlian  half  way  through  the  book. 

He  was  overwhelmed  with  gratitude  to  the 
great  preserver  of  his  life.  All  who  saw  it  said 
he  must  have  been  killed  had  it  not  been  for  the 
Bible,  which  acted  as  a  shield. 

He  kept  that  book  as  a  sacred  treasure, 
and  laid  it  up  in  his  house,  like  the  sword  of 
Goliath  in  the  tabernacle.  '  That  Bible,'  said  he, 
'  has  twice  saved  me ;  first  from  death  in  battle, 
and  next  from  eternal  death.' 


I 


EVERYBODY'S    CORNER. 

QUINTAIN. 

N  the  days  of  chivalry  there  was  a  curious 
exercise,  in  which  the  player  tilted  with  his 
lance  against  a  great  wooden  figure  with  out- 
stretched arms.  If  he  struck  it  fairly  in  the 
centre,  all  was  well ;  but  if  the  blow  was  on 
either  side,  it  swung  round  and  hit  the  rider  as 
he  passed  beneath.  This  quaint  amusement 
was  called  'quintain,'  and  was  very  fiopular  in 
chivalrous  times. 


SOMEBODY    CARES  FOR    YOU. 

CARE  for  nobody,  no,  not  I  I  and  nobody 
cares  for  me  I '  A  good  many  peo]jle  are 
tempted  to  say  so  truly,  and  it  is  very  true  that 
love  begets  love. 

There  is  indeed  nothing  to  make  us  so  sad  as 
the  despairing  feeling  tliat  no  one  cares  about  us ; 
as  if  we  ought  not  to  remember  always  that  God 
cares,  and  God  loves,  even  when  there  is  no  one 
else. 

An  old  woman  who  gave  wa}'  to  tliis  temp- 
tation lived  in  a  northern  town.  She  was  very 
poor  and  very  wretched,  poverty  and  old  age 
had  made  her  as  wrinkled  and  sour  as  she  could 
be.  One  day  she  came  hurrying  along  as  fast 
as  her  stiff  joints  would  let  her,  her  face  had 
lost  half  its  wrinkles,  and  her  eyes  were  actually 
bright  with  gladness. 

'  What  can  have  hajipened  ?  '  said  everybody. 

'  Bless  ye,'  she  cried,  '  I've  got  a  letter  from 
my  boy  in  California,  and  I  thought  he  was 
dead  years  agone.  And  he's  doing  well,  and  says 
I  mustn't  fret,  for  he'll  care  for  me  as  long  as  I 
live.' 

She  had  lost  her  care,  since  somebody  cared 
for  her.     Somcbodij  cares  for  you. 


THE   TONGUE. 

The  tongue  is  like  a  racehorse,  which  runs  the 
faster  the  less  wei"iit  ir  carries. 


,HOW  THE  '  KATE  '  SAVED  THE 
TIDE. 

WILL  she  do  it,  think  you?' 
'  Aye,  sir,  I  can  hardly  tell :  but  if  the 
wind,   what  there  is  of  it,   would   only  veer  a 
point  or  two  in  her  favour,  she'd  make  short  miles 
of  it.' 

I  had  been  watching  the  vessel  a  long  time 
from  the  top  of  the  cliff,  and  even  a  landsman 
could  guess  she  was  trying  to  get  into  the 
harbour  which  lay  below  us;  but  she  had  been  at 
it  all  the  morning,  and  the  wind  was  just  so 
much  against  her,  that  she  had  to  tack  and 
tack  again  and  again,  and  sail  ever  so  many 
miles,  in  order  to  go  really  one. 

I  was  interested  in  her  movements,  and  wlicn 
I  saw  a  young  fisherman,  with  his  little  child 
on  liis  shoulder,  come  sauntering  along  the 
cliff,  and  after  looking  long  at  the  ship  through 
his  glass,  sit  down  on  a  rock  with  his  little  one 
to  wait,  I  took  upon  myself  to  find  out  all  about 
it,  and  glad  am  I  that  I  did. 


.  Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


103 


'What  is  she?'  I  asked,  while  he  watched 
the  sails  shaking  in  the  breeze,  as  they  kept  her 
a  little  too  close  to  the  wind. 

'  Why,  sir,  she's  the  Kate,  from  Sunderland, 
and  she's  beat  all  the  way  down  Channel  dead 
against  the  wind ;  there's  only  two  hours  more 
for  her  to  get  into  harbour,  and  if  she  doesn't  do 
it  in  that  she'll  have  to  wait  nine  days  to  get 
water  enough  ;  this  is  the  last  tide  that  she'll 
get  over  twelve  feet ;  and  she'll  hardly  do  it.' 

'  What  a  pity  I '  I  said  half  aloud  ;  '  and  they 
seem  to  know  what  they're  about,  too.' 

'  That  they  do,  sir,  though  I  say  it.  The 
skipper  is  my  father,  and  he's  been  to  sea  now, 
man  and  boy,  for  nigh  fifty  year,  so  he  ought 
to  know  the  way  to  handle  a  craft  by  this  time  ; 
and  if  anybody  can  save  the  tide,  he  will  I 
know.  It'll  be  forty  pounds  in  his  pocket ;  but 
you  see,  sir,  every  board  they  make  carries  her 
to  leeward.' 

I  had  been  interested  before,  now  I  was 
doubly  so,  and  leaving  the  fisherman  and  his 
little  one  to  watch  the  Kale,  I  wended  my  way 
into  the  town  and  down  the  hilly  back-streets, 
till  I  reached  the  little  tidal  harbour,  with  its 
jetty,  and  miniature  lighthouse  on  the  point, 
stretching  out  into  the  sea,  that  on  this  occasion 
broke  in  little  ripples  on  the  rocks  that  formed 
tlie  bed  and  foundation  of  the  pier. 

Leaning  against  the  sea  wall  I  found  an  old 
Customs  man.  He,  too,  was  looking  through  a 
glass,  and  I  taiew  at  what — the  Kate,  was  not 
far  off. 

'  Do  you  think  she  will  save  the  tide  ? '  asked  I, 
as  he  moved  liis  arm. 

'  Well,  sir,  it's  touch  and  go  if  she  does ;'  and 
he  turned  to  look  at  those  big  white  figures 
painted  on  the  wall  of  the  harbour  mouth,  xiii, 
xiv,  XV,  and  so  on  up  to  xxiii,  xxiv — these 
marked  the  depth  of  the  water  in  feet ;  and  he 
shook  his  head  ominously.  '  One  point  more 
S.  and  W.  in  the  wind  would  give  it  him  ;  but 
the  tide  you  see,  sir,  is  dragging  him  down 
Channel ;  and  if  he  were  to  stand  in  now  he 
would  just  miss  the  pier  head.  He  has  worked 
for  it  bravely,  too,  ever  since  daylight,  and  tried 
everything  a  good  sailor  dares,  to  save  his  port, 
and  it's  vexing  to  be  shut  out.' 

Even  while  he  spoke,  the  vessel  veered  round 
to  stand  on  the  other  tack.  She  was  not  more 
than  half  a  mile  distant,  and  looked  like  a  living 


thing  as  she  parted  the  green  waves  right  and 
left. 

Quite  a  little  crowd  had  collected  at  the 
harbour  head,  and  watched  every  movement  on 
board  the  Ijrig. 

'  He's  trying  all  he  knows  how,  isn't  he, 
John  ?  '  said  one  old  salt. 

'  Aye,  Martin,  and  it's  my  mind  he'll  stand 
right  in  and  get  a  rope  on  the  pier-head,  and 
then  try  and  slip  her  in  ;  if  he  does,  he'll  save 
his  men's  wages  for  ten  days,  by  about  ten 
minutes.' 

There  was  quite  an  excitement  amongst  us 
all,  and  we  were  overjoyed  to  see  that  the 
wind  at  last  favoured  the  gallant  skipper  on 
board  the  brig,  who  was  clearly  to  be  seen 
by  this  time,  standing  in  the  after-part  of  the 
ship,  with  the  helm  in  hand ;  he  was  steering 
her  himself,  so  that  he  might  take  advantage  of 
every  little  puff  of  wind  to  sheer  her  to  wind- 
ward. On  she  came  ;  and  when  not  a  hundred 
yards  from  the  sliore  beyond  the  harbour  a 
boat  dropped  from  the  davits,  with  a  couple  of 
men  in  her;  the  helm  went  down  sharp,  round 
went  the  brig,  and  from  the  sharp  clear  tones  of 
the  captain's  orders  even  the  landsmen  could 
understand  what  had  to  be  done.  The  men  in 
the  boat  rowed  their  hardest,  with  a  light  line 
on  board,  and  no  sooner  reached  the  harbour 
wall  than  willing  hands  passed  it  along,  and  a 
dozen  of  us  ran  away  with  it,  and  the  thick 
hawser  to  which  it  was  attached. 

It  was  an  anxious  ten  minutes  that  we  all  had, 
while  the  brave  fellows  on  board  turned  the 
capstan  hand  over  hand,  and  the  brig  glided 
nearer  and  nearer,  in  through  the  narrow 
entrance,  then  hung  on  the  sandy  bar  that  lay 
just  between  the  outer  sea  and  the  harbour ;  it 
looked  bad  ;  but  everything  held  as  the  sailors 
say,  and  the  next  wave  that  rolled  quietly  in 
lifted  her  gently  to  the  strain  of  the  cable,  and 
she  moved  again.  The  danger  was  past.  Half- 
an  hour  later  every  one  was  congratulating  the 
skipper  on  having  successfully  brought  his 
vessel  in. 

He  had  saved  the  tide  ;  nine  days'  wages  to 
his  crew ;  and  by  the  time  he  would  have  been 
able  to  enter  the  harbour  he  will  have  unloaded 
his  ship,  taken  in  his  ballast,  and  be  ready  for 
sea  again.  It  was  touch  and  go,  but  he  did 
it.  "  Xav. 


104 


Sunday  Reading  for  ThE  Young. 


fK 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


105 


ntiinfiTitriMii !■ 

A  Story  of  Pots  and  Pans. 


106 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


A  STORY    OF   POTS  AND    KETTLES. 

/PiOONTIDE,  a  fierce 
snn  shining  down,  hot 
and  magnificent ;  vil- 
lage children  playing 
about  under  the  shade 
of  the  house  ;  troops 
of  youngsters,  with 
scarce  any  clothes  on 
their  Lacks  for  the 
heat,  cooling  them- 
selves in  the  rapid, 
rushing  stream  of 
water  that  scramhled 
over  the  clear  stone 
causeway  of  the  hill- 
side street. 

Suddenly,  a  scream 
and  a  hubbub  among 
the  youngsters  in  the  gutter — some  one  being- 
killed,  that's  certain ;  nothing  less. 

'  Odds,  bobs,  and  buttercups  ! '  cries  a  portly 
dame  as  she  emerges  from  a  cottage  doorway, 
*  whatever  is  to  do  now  ? ' 

'  Oh,  Mrs.  Salter,  here's  Johnny  Maze  been 
and  thrown  a  lot  of  water  over  my  sister  Susan, 
and  then,  when  I  gave  him  a  smack,  he's  hit  me 

with  his  hoopstick,  and  I'll  go ' 

'  That  is  a  story,'  broke  in  Johnny,  the  cul- 
prit; '  you  hit  me  first,  and  I  only  splashed  her 
with  three  little  drops  that  wouldn't  drown  a 
fly ;   and  you  tell  stories,  yon  do  1 ' 

'  Hush,  hush  1  you  two ;  children  shouldn't 
quarrel  so.  Don't  you  know  you  should  be 
Hnd  to  one  another,  and  not  scratch,  and  bite, 
and  fight  like  dogs  and  cats '?  Here,  here  comes 
a  man  wth  a  barrow,  run  and  see  what  he  has 
got  to  sell.' 

The  children  forgot  all  their  quarrel  in  the 
novelty  of  the  sight.  A  man  driving  a  machine 
on  wheels  in  front  of  him,  and  a  fire  smoking 
away  underneath ;  it  was  funny  to  them,  and 
yet  it  was  only  the  wandering  knife-grinder. 

Bobby  was  just  going  to  ask  him,  '  What  do 
yoTi  sell?'  when  he  was  stopped  by  the  tinker's 
cry,  '  Knives  to  grind,  scizzors  to  mend  ;  any  old 
pots  or  kettles  to-day?' 

Not  many  customers  did  he  get  that  sunny 
noontide,  it  seemed  as  if  it  was  too  hot  for  folks 
to  trouble  about  pots  and  kettles  and  frying- 


pans  ;  umbrellas  and  wash-tubs  seemed  more 
the  sort  of  tiling.  But  the  tinker  got  under  the 
shade  of  the  schoolhouse  wall,  and  there  he  did 
the  few  odd  jobs  that  came  to  him,  while  the 
children  watched  his  wheel  whizzing  round  and 
round,  with  its  grating  whirr,  spurr-r-r-r-r, 
spurr-r-r-r-r. 

How  the  sparks  flew  from  Mother  Jansen's 
knife  !  and  what  fun  it  was  to  watch  the  wheel 
going  round  like  an  engine  1 

'  Mother,'  said  Johnny,  '  may  I  be  a  tinker  ? 
I  should  like  it.' 

'  I  think  you're  one  already,'  said  Mrs.  Maze ; 
'  you're  black  enough  for  one.' 

'  Oh  I  but  I  mean  to  mend  real  pots  and 
kettles  like  him.' 

'  And  have  a  machine  on  wheels,'  adds  Bobby. 

'And  a  real  Lion  and  Unicorn  painted  on  it, 
like  his,'  added  John. 

'  Yes ! '  cried  his  mother,  '  and  be  tinker  to 
the  Royal  Family,  I  suppose,  like  yon  gentle- 
man,' and  she  laughed  again  and  again  at  what 
she  thought  was  a  clever  speech. 

The  children  watched  the  grinder  till  the  knife 
was  done  ;  then  they  watched  on  while  he  seated 
himself  under  the  wall  witli  his  brazier's  fire,  and 
pots  and  pans,  and  Johnny  could  not  resist. 

'  Were  you  a  tinker  when  you  were  a  little 
boy?' 

'Eh?'  said  the  man.  ., 

'  Were  you  a  tinker  when  you  were  little  ?  I 
should  like  to  be  a  tinker,  I  should.' 

The  man  had  hardly  noticed  the  first  ques- 
tion, but  at  the  words  that  followed  he  looked  ' 
up  sharply  from  his  work. 

'  You  would,  would  you  ?  Well,  I  don't 
think  it's  the  best  of  trades,  though  I  say  so. 
But  when  I've  done  these  here,'  and  he  nudged 
a  saucepan  with  his  elbow,  '  if  you  like  I'll  tell 
you  a  story.  You'd  like  to  hear  a  story,  wouldn't 
you? — a  tinker's  story.' 

'  Oh,  yes  I '  cried  his  listeners. 

'  'Specially  if  it's  true,'  added  Margery. 

'  Well,  I'll  tell  you  my  story,  and  then  when 
it's  done  you  shall  tell  me  if  you'd  like  still  to  be 
a  tinker.     It's  worth  listening  to.' 

What  the  story  was  we  shall,  perhaps,  hear 
later  on  ;  but  it  was  interesting  enough  to  keep 
the  children  quiet  more  than  an  hour  that  hot 
afternoon  in  the  shade  of  that  high  school  wall ; 
and  more  than  one  slice  of  bread,  and  bread -and- 


Sunday  Reading  for  the-  Young. 


107 


clieese,  was  tlic  tinker's  reward  from  the  cottage 
doors  that  opened  on  the  street. 

'  I'd  Letter  turn  nurse,  and  set  up  a  chiklren's 
home,'  said  lie. 

(To  he  contimied.) 


FAITH  AND   SIGHT. 

A  LITTLE  anecdote  is  told  which  helps  so 
vividly  to  illustrate  the  difference  betweeji 
seeing  and  helieving. 

Tlie  master  of  an  infnnt  school  told  a  boy  to 
move  a  stool  so  as  not  to  be  seen  by  the  little 
ones  himself.     Then  he  taught  them  this  lesson. 

'  You  cannot  see  anj'  one  moving  the  stool ;  is 
it  not  alive?' 

'  Oh,  no,  sir  I  it  never  was  alive.  Some  one 
must  be  moving  it.' 


'  Bnt  you  cannot  see  anybody ;  perhaps  it 
moves  itself.' 

'  No,  sir ;  though  we  don't  see  anybody,  that 
makes  no  odds.     It  cannot  move  itself.' 

Tlien  he  told  them  of  the  sun,  moon,  and 
stars,  which,  though  we  see  no  one  move  them, 
yet  it  is  certain  they  do  move,  and  no  one  conld 
do  it  bnt  God,  whom  we  do  not  see. 

'  Yes  1'  they  said  ;  '  it  must  be  God.' 

'  But  then  we  cannot  see  Him.' 

'  Please,  we  must  believe  it.' 

'  You  do  believe  it,  then  V 

'  Yes,  sir  I' 

'  Then  this  is  Faith.'  And  they  could  under- 
stand it.  He  added  :  '  If  you  have  Httle  faith, 
what  will  you  do  tlien  ?' 

'  I'll  shut  myself  up  in  a  coiner,'  said  one 
little  mite,  '  and  pray  for  more.' 


MIXED    PICKLES. 

(Ccmtimied  from  "page  100.) 


HE  crowning  point,'  continued 
Uncle  Jack,  '  was  reached  when 
the  blind  man,  pushing  down 
his  bandage,  stood  still,  and  ad- 
dressed this  altered  crowd  very 
seriously  indeed.  "  What  miser- 
able folly  is  this?"  he  asked. 
"  Shall  we  mortals  waste  our  precious  flying 
moments  in — in  what,  my  brethren  ? " 

'  You  see  he  had  turned  into  a  preacher,' 
explained  Uncle  Jack. 

' "  In  what  a  miserable,  frivolous  occupation  ! 
catching  eaeh  other  I — nay,  only  trijing  to  catch 
each  other  I     Poor  fools  and  blind  1  let  us  cease, 

I  say •"    But  he  had  no  one  to  say  it  to,  for 

the  whole  audience  had  gone  off  in  different 
directions,  and  the  preacher  had  only  his  little 
brother  of  five  left  to  listen  to  his  wise  word.s. 
"  Come  along.  Tommy,"  said  he,  "  I  will  try 
and  find  some  one  for  you  to  play  with,  little 
man." 

'"  Play  with  V  answered  the  little  brother  in 
a  tone  of  utter  surprise.  "  My  dear,  I  have 
no  time  to  play.  Letters,  telegrams,  appoint- 
ments by  scores,  fill  my  time.  Let  me  tell  you, 
sir,  thei'e  is  no  busier  man  than  your  humble 
servant  in  the  whole  country." 

'  With  which  he  turned  about  and  strode  off 


with  the  longest  strides  his  little  legs  in  their 
blue  sailor  trowsers  could  take ;  for  he  had  be- 
come a  man  of  business. 

'"This  is  too  absurd,"  muttered  the  elder, 
and  went  off  to  look  for  the  church  of  which  he 
was  vicar. 

'  The  same  remai'kable  change  came  over  all 
the  children.  One  little  brat  who  was  busy 
teasing  an  unfortunate  kitten  stopped  suddenly, 
and  rnslied  off  in  search  of  jien  and  paper,  wit'n 
which  he  returned,  and  began  at  once  to  compose 
an  ode  ''  To  Tabitlia." 

"  Fairest  Pussy  ever  seen ! 
"With  thine  eyes  of  clearest  green, 
Fly  nie  not." 

That  was  how  it  began,  for  he  had  become  a  poet.* 
'  I   thought  poets   wrote    about  knights   and 
ladies,  and  green  fields  and  the  moon,'  remon- 
strated Bryda. 

'  So  the)'  do.  But  sometimes  they  want  a 
new  siibject,  and  this  young  genius  thought  he 
had  found  one. 

'  Well,  all  the  children,  without  losing  their 
child-faces  and  figures,  turned  into  the  sort  of 
peo}ile  they  would  be  when  they  were  grown  uj). 
So  of  course  tlieir  games  seemed  very  dull,  and 
they  wanted  grown-up  occupations.  But  not 
knowing  quite  how  to  set  to  work,  they  were  all 


108 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


lotinging  vaguely  atout,  wlien  the  clear  notes  of 
a  bugle  sounded  through  the  city. 

'  This  was  the  well-laiowii  signal  for  the 
assembling  of  the  whole  population  in  the  park, 
and  off  went  all  these  queer  gro^^^l-up  children 
to  the  place  of  meeting.  Here  they  were  met 
by  Queen  May,  who  sat  on  a  garden-chair  with 
her  Court  around  her,  all  looking  very  solemn. 

'"My  faithful  subjects,"  said  the  Queen,  "I 
have  sent  for  you  to  consider  a  very  grave 
question.  I  regret  to  state  that  the  affairs  of 
this  kingdom  are  in  a  condition  which  'will, 
perhaps,  be  best  described  as  \msatisfactory." 

' "  Hear,  hear  I "  said  a  gentleman  of  four, 
bowing  gravely. 

' "  Hear,  hear  1 "  echoed  many  voices. 

'"Perhaps  the  most  unsatisfactory  point  is," 
went  on  Queen  May,  who,  you  see,  talked  in 
very  grown-up  language,  "  is,  I  say,  the  banish- 
ment of  a  large  portion  of  the  population  ;  that 
portion,  in  fact,  which  we  were  fomierly  accus- 
tomed to  call  our  elders  and  betters." 


'  Cries  of  "  No,  no  I " 

'  Queen  May  went  on  to  expilain  that  after  all 
they  got  on  badly  without  these  elders.  With 
all  their  efforts  the  young  folks  had  not  strength 
or  skill  to  do  a  variety  of  things,  without  which 
the  round  of  life  seemed  likely  soon  to  come  to  a 
standstill.  So  she  proposed  that  she  and  all 
who  would  go  should  start  at  once  for  the  moun- 
tain and  fetch  home  the  exiles. 

'  There  was  some  murmuring  at  this.  The 
old  law  might  be  carried  out,  and  the  children 
made  ^vretched  again. 

'"And  —  why,  bless  me,"  said  an  elderly 
person  of  nine,  as  he  fixed  on  a  double  eye-glass 
with  gold  rims,  "they  might  actually  want  to 
send  me,  me  I  to  bed  at  eight  o'clock  1" 

' "  Proper  conditions  would  be  made,"  the 
Queen  said. 

'  One  after  another  all  the  objections  were 
overcome,  and  a  long  procession  started,  with 
Queen  May,  momited  on  a  white  pony,  at  its 
head. 

'  On  arriving  at  the  mountain  they  were 
greatly  surprised  to  meet  the  King,  that  stern 
tyrant  who  wanted  to  stop  all  fun,  running  as 
hard  as  his  legs  could  carry  his  fat  body,  with 
his  cro-\vn  on  the  back  of  his  head,  and  a  green 
net-bag  tied  on  to  the  end  of  his  sceptre,  chasing 
a  white  butterfly. 

' "  Please,  your  Majesty,"  began  Queen  May, 
shyly ;  but  the  King  only  .looked  round  for  a 
moment  and  ran  on,  then  tumbled  over  a  furze- 
bush,  so  that  his  cro\Aai  rolled  far  away,  and  the 
butterfly  escaped,  while  he  lay  there  kicking. 

'  The  children  were  very  much  surprised  at 
this,  and  thought  the  King  must  have  gone 
mad,  and,  in  fact,  they  felt  very  penitent,  for 
they  supposed  his  hurried  flight  must  have  been 
too  much  for  the  brain,  so  they  were  to  blame 
for  this  terrible  alteration. 

'  A  little  further  on,  however,  they  were  still 
more  surprised  to  see  a  circle  of  the  most  serious 
old  maids  in  the  whole  capital,  ladies  whose 
time  was  mostly  spent  in  making  flannel 
garments  for  the  poor,  or  sitting  at  neat 
tea-tables  with  neat  curls  on  each  side  of 
their  faces,  and  a  neat  cat,  curled  on  a  neat 
cushion,  in  a  neat  chair,  close  at  hand,  and 
these  old  ladies  were  all  screaming  and  laugh- 
ing like  children. 

[To  he  continued.) 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


109 


ARIES. 

(HE  Ram  is  the  celestial  sign  for  tLe  month 

of  March,  as  the  sun  enters  that  sign  in 

the  Zodiac  on  the  twentieth  of  the  month. 

Perhaps  this  emblem  was  chosen  because,  in 

ancient  times,  the  increasing  power  of  the 

sun's  rays  was  expressed  by  the  horns  of  animals. 

In  old  paintings  this  month  is  portraj'ed  as  a  man 

of  a  tawny  colour  and  fierce  aspect,  with  a  helmet 

on  his  head — a  type  of  Mars,  the  heathen  God  of 

War ;  but,  in  order  to  make  the  emblem  appropriate  to  the 

season  and  the  labours  of  the  fanner,  he  is  made  leaning  on 

a  spade,  holding  blossoms  in  one  hand  and  a  basket  of  seeds 

on  his  arm. 


no 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


ONE    YEAR    OLD. 


ONE  ye;ir  old  to-morrow ; 
Little  stainless  feet, 
Set  am  life's  rough  jMthway, 
Dainty,  fresh,  and  sweet. 

One  year  old  to-morrow  : 
Eyes  so  glad  and  bright, 

Trying  hard  to  fathom 
Every  wondrous  sight. 

One  year  old  to-morrow  ; 

Tiny,  pink-hued  hands, 
Holding  all  onr  heart-sti'ings 

In  luve's  slender  bands. 


Lips  of  dewy  sweetness. 
Fresh  as  any  flower, 

Keeping  all  your  secrets 
Till  some  golden  hour. 


"Will  the  feet  just  started 

On  the  way  of  life, 
Some  day  faint  and  falter 

In  the  cruel  strife  ? 

\Till  the  eyes  just  opened 
Sometime,  m  long  years. 

Have  their  dancing  gladness 
Drowned  in  bitter  tears  ? 

Darling  little  rosebud. 

Fair,  and  fresh  and  sweet, 

God  alone  can  guard  you 
From  the  ills  you  meet  I 

Darling  little  sunbeam, 
Dancing  free  and  bright, 

May  God  always  fill  you 
With  His  own  glad  light  1 


One  year  old  to-morrow  ; 

May  God  guard  you,  dear  ; 
Keep  you  pure  and  stainless 

Through  each  coming  year  '. 

Agnes  Neale,  Adelaide. 


EVERYBODY'S    CORNER. 

WHAT    ONK    I>l:lNTING-rnESS    HAY    DO. 

ALEXAJ^DEE  DALLAS  was  first  a  sol- 
dier, and  then  a  clergyman  at  Winston 
in  Hampshire,  wliere  he  worked  for  many  years 
with  untiring  energy. 

In  1S28  the  printing-press  was  ver^'  far  from 
what  it  is  now  ;  but  this  devoted  man,  finding 


the  woi'k  of  copying  good  papers  for  his  jieople 
to  reaxl  took  too  long,  set  up  a  printing-press 
of  his  own,  and  spent  the  greater  part  of  every 
niglit  over  it.  By  this  means,  and  the  help 
of  his  schoolmaster,  he  diffused  good  reading 
amongst  his  parisliioners  for  five-and-twenty 
years,  and  the  good  old  printing-press  was 
afterwards  sent  to  an  industrial  school  at  South- 
am  j)ton. 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


Ill 


THE    RED    MAN'S    HOME. 

\  WAY  in  the  Far  West  of  North 
America  is  the  land  of  the 
lied  Man.     Once  they  were 
only    two   principal    races, 
divided  into  many  tribes, 
and  spread  over  the  whole 
continent ;    bnt  the  march 
of  civilisation  has  driven  them 
fnrther  and  further  back,  until  it 
is  only  in  the  extreme  "West  that 
the  Red  Indians  are  left  in  small 
bauds,  of  from  two  hundred  to  a 
thousand  each. 
In    that   Western  -.-vorld    there  was  a  settle- 
ment   of  Chipeways   on  the  banks  of  a  broad 
river,  the  shore  of  which  was  fringed  with  rude 
huts,  canoes,  and  fishing-nets  spread  out. 

Back  from  the  river  the  bush  extended  for 
many  a  mile,  dotted  here  and  there  with  a  log- 
hut,  or  a  bark-tent  or  wigwam,  and  a  small 
dearing,  with  its  rough  road  and  deep  ruts, 
only  serving  to  show  up  more  clearly  the  back- 
ground of  the  forest  saplings. 

Here,  many  years  ago,  the  white  missionary 
came  te  teach  the  red  man  how  to  pray  to  the 
Great  Spirit,  of  whom  he  had  such  a  very  dim 
notion. 

History  they  had  none ;  only  a  tradition 
existed  among  them  that  they  came  originally 
from  another  country  where  dwelt  very  wicked 
people,  that  their  ancestors  had  crossed  a  great 
lake  which  was  narrow,  shallow,  atid  full  of 
islands,  where  they  suffered  much  misery,  for 
it  was  always  winter,  with  ice  and  deep  snow. 

At  the  Coppermine  River,  where  they  came 
to  the  first  land,  the  ground  was  covered  with 
copper,  over  which  the  earth  had  since  collected 
to  the  depth  of  a  man's  stature. 

They  believed,  too,  that  in  those  ancient  times 
their  ancestors  lived  till  their  feet  were  worn 
out  with  walking,  and  their  throats  with  eating. 
There  had  once  been  a  deluge,  when  the  waters 
Eprea»l  over  the  whole  earth,  except  the  highest 
mountains,  on  the  tops  of  which  those  then 
living  preserved  themselves. 

This  was  the  history  of  the  tribe  as  related 
to  the  white  man  when  he  settled  among  them 
to  teach  them  better  things,  and  lead  them  to  a 
new  and  a  better  life. 


In  time  the  influence  of  the  white  man  spread  ; 
the  Indians  learned  to  know  hiui  as  a  friend,  so 
that  in  a  veiy  little  while  they  were  willing  to 
help  in  building  a  church  where  they  might 
meet  the  Great  Spirit  of  whom  they  now  heard 
the  truth. 

It  was  a  busy  day  when  the  ch\irch  was 
raised,  and  the  old  chief  made  a  feast  of  wel- 
come for  the  man  of  peace ;  and  still  more 
striking  must  have  been  the  scene  a  few  months 
later,  when  on  New-years  Day  another  feast 
was  made  in  the  red  man's  settlement,  and  the 
chief  received  the  missionary  and  his  wife,  and 
gave  them  native  names  of  honour,  by  which 
they  might  ever  be  known  among  the  tribe. 

He  said,  as  he  took  the  white  man's  hand  : — 
'  The  name  selected  for  you  is  one  we  all 
respect  and  hold  in  fond  remembrance,  for  it  is 
the  name  of  an  old  and  beloved  chief  of  our 
tribe  many  years  ago,  a  name  we  wish  to  keep; 
and,  as  you  come  as  a  missionary  to  the  Indians,  it 
is  mj'  desire,  the  desu-e  of  us  all  that  your  name 
shall  he  his.  So  we  call  you  Puhguhkahbun — 
Clear  Light.'  Then  taking  the  lady  by  the  hand, 
he  added,  '  With  pleasure,  too,  I  give  you  also  a 
Chipeway  name;  it  is  that  of  one  of  our  sisters, 
long  since  gone  to  the  Great  Spirit  Land,  and  it 
is  the  wish  of  my  people  that  you  should  be 
called,  as  was  our  dear  sister,  Nahwegeeshgooqua 
— Lady  of  the  Sky  ;  and  we  shall  always  look 
vipon  you  as  a  sister,  for  you  will  bear  a  name 
very  .dear  to  us.'  Then  the  whole  assembly  rose, 
men  and  women  too,  and  welcomed  their  new 
brother  and  sister. 

Once  upon  a  time  these  red  men  \\'ere  a  ter- 
rible and  warlike  people,  who  thought  of  little 
else  than  fighting,  and  measured  their  esteem  for 
a  man  by  his  bravery  in  battle,  and  the  number 
of  enemies  he  had  slain.  Their  Braves  were 
those  who  possessed  the  most  scalps.  Now  the 
angel's  message  has  reached  even  theni,  and 
those  that  are  left  are  at  peace  among  them- 
selves, and  bear  goodwill  to  the  white  man. 


FALSEHOOD. 


AN  nn*i'uth  is  a  coiniterfeit  coin;  it  may 
pass  current  for  a  while,  but  when  dis- 
covered it  ie  nailed  to  the  counter  for  what  it  is 
— s.  deception,  a  shame. 


112 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


The  Eed  Man's  Welcomet 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


113 


"  Simshine's  Bow." 


Hi 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


SUNSHINE. 

HAT  would  the  Lriglit  sum- 
mer be  without  parties  and 
picnics,  and  what  would  the 
children  do  without  the  bright 
June  days,  and  the  flowers, 
and  the  happy,  joyous  woods  and  fields'?  What, 
indeed  1 

It  was  only  last  week  that  two  little  friends  of 
mine,  IMinnie  and  Harold,  were  invited  to  a 
children's  picnic,  and  where,  I  should  like  to 
know,  would  have  been  their  pleasure  if  there 
had  been  no  sunshine,  no  country,  and  no  picnic? 

Well,  these  two  little  ones  went — went  to 
the  picnic  ;  but,  first,  they  were  dressed  all  in 
their  best,  and  nurse  gave  up  a  great  deal  of  her 
time  to  make  them  look  as  neat  and  tidy  as,  let 
me  see — as — well — new  pins ;  though  I  do  not 
know  why  new  pins  are  said  to  be  tidy,  unless 
it  is  when  they  are  stuolj  up  in  rows,  on  a 
paper. 

Well,  Minnie  and  Harold  looked  as  nice  as 
could  possibly  be,  and  Minnie  was  to  take  great 
care  of  her  little  brother,  and  see  that  he  neither 
spoiled  his  clothes  nor  hurt  himself.  And  they 
tell  me  she  did  it  very  well,  quite  like  a  little 
mother;  for  when  nurse  left  them  at  the  lady's 
house,  who  gave  the  picnic,  she  took  him  by  the 
^,and,  and  walked  through  the  entrance-hall  into 
the  garden,  where  the  guests  were  waiting  ready 
to  start,  cpiite  like  a  little  lady,  and  then  made 
a  courtly  curtsey,  while  she  said  to  him,  '  Make 
your  bow,  Harold  I ' 

They  called  her  Sunshine,  she  was  so  merry 
and  good ;  and  a  most  happy  day  they  all  spent 
among  the  beautiful  ruins  of  an  old  castle,  with 
a  lovely  drive  there  and  home  again.  No  one  was 
naiighty ;  not  one  mishap  ;  no  one  but  enjoyed 
everytliing,  and  tried  to  please  all  the  rest. 

That's  the  way  to  make  sunshine. 


TETTEBS    OR   EBEEDOM? 

Ji  TETTERS  do  not  always  mean  a  prison, 
_JL  and  the  slave  has  been  more  free  than  his 
jailer. 

All,  exiled  king  found  this  out,  when  James 
the  Second,  on  his  deathbed  said  to  his  son, 
'  There  is  no  slavery  like  sin,  and  no  liberty 
like  God's  service.' 


proper  i 
Catch  it  1  catch  it  1 '  cried  one 


MIXED     PICKLES. 

(Coniimied  from  page  108.) 

*HESE  very  respectable  old 
ladies  now  looked  anything  but 
neat  1  Their  curls  were  flying 
in  all  directions,  and  they  were 
screaming  with  laughter,  pinch- 
ing each  other,  and  making  all 
sorts  of  silly  jokes  over  a  furious  game  of 
"  hunt  the  slipper."  For  you  see  ihey  had  gone 
back  to  what  they  used  to  like  when  they  were 
children. 

'  Queen  May  looked  at  them  gravely. 

'"Dear  friends,"  she  said,  "at  your  age,  is 
this  decorous  ?  Is  it  proper  ?  la  it  even 
ladylike?" 

'"  There  it  isl 
of  the  old  ladies. 

'"  Come  and  play  with  us  1"  cried  another. 

'  None  of  the  rest  paid  any  attention  to  the 
serious  looks  of  the  grown-up  children,  who 
went  sadly  on  towards  the  fort,  hoping  to  find 
some  one  more  reasonable. 

'  The  next  person  they  saw  was  the  Lord 
Chancellor,  a  bald,  stout  old  gentleman,  who 
was  sitting  on  the  woolsack,  which,  you  remem- 
ber, he  had  carried  away  on  his  back.  He  was 
very  busy  with  a  pipe,  and  the  children  thought 
he  was  smoking,  and  grew  more  hopeful.  He 
might  have  some  trace  of  good  sense  left,  they 
thought,  if  he  could  care  for  such  a  grown-up 
pursuit.' 

Here  Uncle  Jack  offered  his  cigar  to  Bryda 
politely,  but  she  made  a  face  and  turned  her 
head  away. 

'  I  don't  wtxnt  to  be  so  grown-up  as  that,'  she 
said. 

'  Oh  I '  said  Uncle  Jack,  with  his  funny  face, 
that  he  always  put  on  to  tease  Bryda.  '  Oh,  I 
thought  you  wanted  to  grow  up  all  of  a  sudden.' 

'  Well — oidy  for  some  things,'  answered  she, 
feeling  that  Uncle  Jack  was  taking  a  mean 
advantage  in  remembering  her  sayings,  and 
bringing  them  up  again.  '  Please  go  on,'  she 
added,  hastily. 

Uncle  Jack  winked  at  her  very  slowly  and 
solemnly ;  then  took  a  good  puff  at  his  cigar, 
and  went  on. 

'  When  they  came  up  he  was  found  to  be 
blowing  soap-bubbles  1 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


115 


'"A-alil"  he  sjriluttered,  tiying  to  talk  -with 
the  pipe  in  Lis  mouth.  "  D-don't  break  it, 
please  1  There  I"  as  the  bubble  burst  and 
vanished ;  "  it's  too  bad,  I  declare  I  Directly  I 
get  a  really  good  one.  big  and  bright,  that 
always  happens.  Have  a  trj',"  he  added,  offer- 
ing Queen  Ma)'  the  pipe. 

'"I  say,  my  lord,"  said  the  Major-General 
commanding  the  royal  army,  coming  up  at  the 
moment,  "  can  you  tell  me  how  to  mend  lead 
soldiers  ?  I've  tried  gum  and  glue,  and  one  of 
the  maids  of  honour  tried  to  sew  one,  but  some- 
how they  don't  join  properly.  It's  a  horrid 
bore,  and  that  fellow  the  Si>eaker  won't  let  me 
have  a  ride  on  his  rocking-horse.  I'd  punch 
him,  only  he's  six  feet  three,  and  as  broad  as 
he's  long.     So  I  don't  know  what  to  play  at." 

'  •'  It  h  slow,"  answered  the  Lord  Chancellor, 
pityingly.  "  Never  mind,  old  cliap,  come  up  to 
the  fort  and  we'll  make  some  toffee." 

•  So  the  elderly  gentlemen  went  off  arm-in- 
arm,  and  Queen  May  shook  her  golden-curled 
head  sadly. 

' "  They  ai-e  all  mad,  poor  things  I  What  are 
we  to  do  ?  " 

'"Hil  hi  I"  ci'ied  a  voice,  and  looking  round 
they  saw  that  tall,  handsome  nobleman,  the 
Master  of  the  Horse,  running  towards  them  as 
fast  as  he  could.  At  last,  perhaps,  they  had 
found  some  one  to  speak  sensibly  to. 

'"  Hi  I  you  fellows,"  he  cried,  breathlessly ; 
"  stop  a  minute,  will  you  ?  Is  that  a  circus 
pony  ?  and  can  he  do  tricks  ?  Sit  up  with  a 
hat  on,  and  drink  out  of  tea-cups,  I  mean." 

'"Certainly  not,"  replied  Queen  May,  with 
her  utmost  dignity.  '•  I  hardly  understanti. 
Lord  Mo5'ers,  how  you  can  ask  such  a  strange 
question.  Did  you  ever  see  a  lady,  especially 
if  she  were  a  crowned  queen,  riding  a  circus 
pony  ?  " 

'Lord  jMoyers  giggled,  and  turned  head-over- 
lieels  on  the  spot,  after  which  he  rushed  off 
again  to  join  the  rest  of  the  House  of  Lords,  who 
were  playing  "  hi  1  cockalorum,"  close  by. 

'  The  procession  went  on  very  sorrowfully 
towards  the  fort.  It  grieved  them  to  see  this 
ft'ivolity  in  those  to  whom  they  had  been  taught 
to  look  up. 

' "  Alas,  my  country  I ''  sighed  Eric,  the  boy 
who,  j'ou  remember,  had  proposed  to  kill  the 
pig  before  he  was  touched  with  the  fairy  wand. 


'  Perhaps  it  was  on  arriving  at  the  gates  of 
the  fort  that  tlie  very  strangest  sight  was  seen. 
The  Queen  was  a  very  stout  and  middle-aged 
person,  of  rather  stern  countenance,  and  here  she 
was  busy  with  a  skipping-rope — her  hair  loose, 
her  royal  robes  tucked  up,  and  her  crown  on  one 
side. 

" '  It's  the  best  fun  and  the  finest  exercise  in 
the  world,"  she  gasped.  "  If  I  could  only  skip 
twice  to  one  turn  of  the  rope  1 " 

'  And  on  she  went,  while  the  children  watched 
But  there  was  something  so  utterly  ridiculous 
about  the  sight,  that  Queen  May  and  her 
followers,  after  various  vain  efforts  to  suppress 
their  mirth,  burst  into  one  peal  of  laughter,' whlcii 
rang  merrily  through  the  old  fort,  and  over  the 
hill-side. 

'It  broke  the  charm,  and  in  a  moment  the 
children  became  children  again,  and  the  grown 
people  became  as  they  were  before. 

'  Thei'e  was  a  large  flat  field  on  the  moimtain 
top,  in  front  of  the  gates  of  the  old  fort,  and  here 
all  the  exiles  were  in  a  few  minutes  assembled. 

'  The  King  was  about  to  address  them,  when 
in  a  moment,  no  one  knowing  how  she  came 
there,  the  Fairy  Sot-'em-right  stood  among  them, 
close  beside  his  Majest)'. 

'  "  You  have  all  learnt  a  lesson,  and  I  will  put 
it  into  words  for  you,"  she  said.' 

'  Oh,  dear  I '  interrupted  'Bryda,  '  here  comes 
the  moral !  Don't  make  a  very  hard  one,  Uncle 
Jack,  please  I ' 

He  laughed.  '  I  must  finish  this  truthful 
story  truthfully.  Miss. 

'  She  said,  turning  to  the  King  and  Qneen, — 

'  "  Your  fault  was  that  you  forgot  you  once 
were  young  yourselves.'" 

Bryda  nodded  her  head  very  wisely. 

'  "  And  you,  children,  forgot  that  you  could  not 
do  without  old  people.  That  wicked  law  is  at 
once  repealed." 

'"Certainly,  ma'am,"  said  the  King,  bowing. 

'  "  Children  are  to  be  children,  and  behave  as 
such,  and  be  treated  as  such.  Parents  are 
parents,  the  children  are  not  to  forget  that.  Now 
go  home  all  of  you,  and  don't  forget  this  one 
caution,  I've  got  mi/  ei/c  on  you." 

'  With  these  awful  words  the  Fairy  vanished. 
And  that's  the  end  of  the  story.' 

'  And  a  very  nice  ending,  too  I '  said  Bryda. 
{To  be  continued.) 


116 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


\3f 


|J|S*4t|l 


THE   LILY'S   LESSOW. 

WITHIN  the  garden's  deep  calm  shade 
A  tall  sweet  Lily  grew, 
And  many  other  flowers  besides, 
Of  every  beauteous  hue. 

Ent  none  in  loveliness  excelled 

That  Lily  pure  and  white. 
Fairer  than  snow  in  ■winter-time. 

Than  stars  more  dazzling  bright. 

And  by  the  gardener's  tender  care 

It  lovelier  grew  each  day. 
And  shed  its  radiance  all  around, 

From  many  a  petal  gay. 

It  was  when  life  was  growing  drear. 
Earth's  pleasures  seemed  but  vain, 

And  I  longed  for  something  higher 
To  lead  me  on  again ; 

Then  I  wandered  in  the  garden. 

Where  the  Lily  grew, 
Saw,  and  marked  its  dazzling  beauty, 

Its  purity  of  hue. 

Long  I  gazed  upon  its  petals. 

Life  seemed  different  then ; 
Upwards  I  could  look  to  heaven ; 

Onwards  march  again. 


From  the  whiteness  of  the  Lily 

I  a  lesson  learned, 
That  even  earth  was  sweeter, 

If  heavenward  we  turned. 

By  the  Author  of '  Tales  0/  Utopia',  &c. 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


117 


Johnny's  Harvest. 


118 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


'IT    IS    AW    ILL    WIND.' 

JOHN  S5IITH  was  out  of  work,  trade  was 
slack,  labour  was  plentiful ;  and  in  the 
dreary  yellow  November  days  no  one  iu  London 
wanted  to  employ  fresh  hands,  errand  boys  were 
at  a  discount. 

Poor  Johnny,  he  did  not  know  what  to  do, 

-when   the   morning    dawned  one    day  towards 

the    end  of   the   month  ;    '  as   black    as    black 

could   be,'   as   Mrs.    Brown,   the   baker's   wife, 

said. 

It  was  in  fact  a  yellow  London  November  fog 
■ — night  made  dismal,  and  it  seemed  as  if  another 
day  of  disappointment  fw  Johnny  had  come, 
for  if  he  could  not  get  a  job  on  a  fine  day,  no 
one  would  employ  liim  when  they  could  not  see 
an  arm's  length  before  them. 

Siiddenly  he  remembered  tlie  liuk-boj-s,  and 
an  idea  came.  '  It's  an  ill  wind,'  tliouglit  he, 
and  away  he  went. 

It  was  indeed  a  harvest-day  for  Johmiy  ;  the 
fog  deepened,  and  grew  thicker  as  the  day  went 
on,  and  the  lad,  who  knew  every  turning  and 
court,  was  able  to  guide  many  a  passenger  in  the 
right  direction,  thankful  enough  to  give  him  a 
cojiper  or  two  when  he  had  steered  them  clear  of 
the  horses'  heads  and  carriage  wheels. 

Cheapside  and  St.  Paul's  Churchyard  were  in 
gloom  like  midnight,  gas  alight  everywhere;  but 
gas  was  of  no  use  at  all,  and  only  glimmered 
here  and  there  like  dim  yellow  streaks;  and  even 
the  electric  light  failed  to  pierce  the  midnight 
gloom  that  had  settled  on  the  crowded  city 
way. 

Poor  Johnny  was  as  brisk  as  brisk  could  be, 
and  when  one  linlc  had  burned  out  he  ran  off  and 
invested  a  few  of  his  well-earned  coppers  in 
another. 

ISure  enough,  it's  an  ill  wind  that  blows  no  one 
any  good.  The  nasty  yellow  fog  that  got  down 
people's  throats  and  nearly  choked  them  brought 
a  capital  day's  wage  to  Johnuy,  sent  him  home 
with  three  shillings  in  his  pocket,  and  such  a 
smiling,  happy  face,  that  next  day  he  got  a 
situation — just  the  one  he  wanted.  People  were 
ready  enough  to  engage  a  lad  who  seemed  so 
smilincc  and  cheerful. 


BIBLE   WORDS. 

THOUGHT. 

THIS  word  was  often  used  for  anxiety,  and 
is  so  intended  in  St.  Matt.  vi.  34 :  '  Take 
no  thought  for  the  morrow.'  '  Do  not  be  over- 
anxious.' 

Bacon  writes  of  one  Harris,  an  alderman  of 
London,  that  lie  '  was  put  in  trouble,  and  died 
with   thought   and  anguish  befwe  his  business 
came  to   an   end.'      And  Shakespeare   too : 
'  If  lie  love  Cffisar,  all  that  he  can  do 
Is  to  himself  take  thought,  and  die  for  Caesar.' 


THE  VALUE   OF  A    EARTHING. 

IN  1834,  on  Sunday,  October  5,  the  anni- 
versary of  the  Sunday  School  there,  a 
collection  was  made  at  Copt  Hall,  a  vilkge  in 
Essex,  and  a  little  boy  seven  years  old  brought 
a  rather  heavy  bag  and  placed  on  tlie  plate. 

Examining  its  contents  afterwartls,  the  col- 
lectors found  it  contained  two  hundred  and 
eighty -five  farthings,  or  five  shillings  and 
elevenpence  furthing.  Further  inquirv  showed 
that  the  lad  was  often  employed  on  errands  for 
his  mother,  and  was  allowed  to  keep  all  tlie 
farthings  he  received  in  change.  These  he  had 
carefully  treasured  up  for  the  Sunday  tichool,  at 
which  it  may  bo  guessed  he  was  a 'happy  and 
regular  attendant.  It  was  a  singular  testimony 
to  the  value  of  '  littles.' 


'Tis  easy  to  fall  into  a  traj).  but  hard  to  get 
out  airain. 


AN    ENEMY    TURNED    INTO  A 
,-.  FRIEND. 

^^|)  .^N  the  year  15G7,  a  poor  Protestant 
"*"         «-"i:i'|-   in  the  Low  Countries,  as  Holland 
IP  was  then  termed,  was  condenmed 
to  death  for  his  religious  ojiinions. 
Diclv  AYillemzoon  made  his  es- 
cape, and  fled  for  his  life;   pursuetl, 
however,    by  one   of  the  officers  of 
justice. 

A  frozen  lake  lay  in  front,  and  it 
was  just  tliat  period  when  the  ice 
becomes  unsafe;  but  he  ventured  on,  and  though 
it  cracked  and  shook  beneath  his  steps,  he  pressed 
forward  as  he  thought  of  the  terrible  death  tliat 
would  be  his,  if  he  were  taken. 

So  he  ran  over  the  unsafe  ice,  till  at  last  his 


^1 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


110 


feet  stood  on  the  fii-m  shore  beyond  ;  then  a  cry 
of  terror  startled  him,  he  looked  back  and  saw 
the  officer  sink  through  the  rotten  ice,  and 
heard  the  plunge  as  the  dark  waters  closed  over 
him. 

No  one  was  near;  he  might  leave  the  man 
to  perish,  and  none  would  be  ever  the  wiser: 
but  Dick  was  a  Christian,  and  had  been  taught 
better. 

He  went  back  over  the  ice,  step  by  step,  till 
he  could  succour  the  drowning  man,  and  at  the 
risk  of  his  o«-n  life  succeeded  in  rescuing  his 
pursuer,  and  together  they  reached  a  place  of 
safety. 

His  heroism  deserved  reward,  and  we  are 
not  surprised  that  he  escaped  the  doom  intended 
for  him,  and  that  the  officer  became  his  friend 
for  life. 


TRUE    WORTH. 

WHAT  signifies  a  man's  trade?'  said 
the  King,  George  III.,  to  one  who 
spoke  of  a  '  mean '  trade.  '  A  man  of  any 
honest  trade  may  make  himself  respectable  if  he 
wiU.' 

EVY'S   LESSON. 

iVY  MAITLAND  was  a  little 
spoilt  girl,  wlio  was  allowed  to 
have  too  much  her  own  way, 
and  who  was  a  tyrant  over  the 
whole  household,  from  father  and 
mother  down  to  the  dogs  and 
cats,  who  fled  from  her  in  dismay 
whenever  they  saw  her  coming. 
Like  most  spoilt  children,  she  was 
a  pretty  little  thing,  and  would 
have  been  most  lovable  if  she  had 
not  been  wilful  and  selfish  too. 
Her  father  lived  in  a  large  and  handsome 
house,  with  gardens,  and  flowers,  and  terraces, 
where  there  was  everything  to  please  the  eye, 
and  give  one  pleasure.  There  were  carriages 
too,  and  Evy  very  often  went  for  rides  with 
nurse ;  but  being  an  only  little  girl  she  was 
spoiled,  and  needed  coiTecting  very  sadly,  and 
correction  came  in  a  very  odd  way,  when  least 
expected,  and  from  a  very  strange  teaclier. 
It  was  a  lovely  day  in  June  ;  the  birds  were 


singing  as  if  to  render  thanks  to  Him  who 
sends  the  bright  sunshine  and  the  brilliant 
flowers.  Evy  had  been  allowed  to  run  in  the 
garden  and  gather  some  flowers  for  niirse,  and 
Fido,  her  pet,  was  with  her.  Fido  was  a  little 
doggie,  and,  like  his  mistress,  much  spoiled. 
Still,  he  was  a  pretty  little  fellow,  with  his  velvet 
collar  and  tassel,  and  thought  a  good  deal  of 
himself,  I  can  assure  you. 

Evy's  good  old  nurse  always  accompanied  her 
in  her  walks,  because  her  father  had  large 
grounds,  and  Evy  might  lose  herself, 

'  Miss  Evy,  dear,  come  this  way,  and  we 
shall  be  able  to  ask  the  gardener  if  he  has 
any  spare  flowers  that  will  do  for  us.  Come 
along.' 

'  No,  not  that  way  ;  I  want  to  go  here,'  and 
she  turned  to  go  down  a  path  with  shrubs  over- 
hanging both  sides. 

'  Come  with  me  first,  dear,  and  then  we  can 
go  back  that  way.  Besides,  you  have  nearly 
enough  flowers  now,  your  basket's  full.' 

'No,  I  won't  1'  said  the  wilful  child;  and  nurse 
could  see  she  would  try  to  get  her  own  way, 
which  was  naughty  ;  so  nurse,  without  speaking, 
walked  away  from  her. 

Evy  stood  still  for  a  moment,  the  good  and 
the  evil  battling  within  that  little  heart,  and 
then  she  turned  to  look  after  nurse,  when  oh  I 
dreadful  sight  1  there  was  a  large  beetle  on  her 
shoulder,  and  she  could  not  possibly  reach  it. 
She  fancied  she  could  hear  tlie  black  thing  say, 
'You  naughty  child,  what  was  it  yon  said?  "  I 
won't  ?  "  now  I  shall  bite  you.' 

At  least,  that  is  what  poor  Evy  thought 
as  she  stood  there  trembling,  and  Fido  looking 
up  at  her  without  understanding  her  trouble. 

Evy  was  too  frightened  to  scream ;  she 
trembled  very  much,  and  the  tears  were  just 
beginning  to  come,  when  happily  nurse  returned 
to  her  wayward  charge,  and  in  her  terror  little 
Evy  clung  to  her,  and  sobbed  as  if  her  heart 
would  break. 

'  Oh  1  nurse,  nurse,  do  take  it  away  I  I  will 
never  be  naughty  so  again  I  I  will  not,  in- 
deed.' And  nurse  had  to  soothe  her  for  some 
time  before  the  tearful  face  regained  its  wonted 
looks. 

There  are  a  good  many  little  Evy's.  We 
will  hope  that  as  they  read  of  her  they  will  learn 
the  same  lesson. 


120 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


/ 


^-i. 


^^wi^i^v  .^. 


./"■ 


?;Wh\\ 


#    a' 


-^:ri 


Evy's  Fright. 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


121 


Across  the  Bar. 


122 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


THE   I-ISHERMAN'S   DATJGHTEH. 


DOWN  by  the  sen,  in  the  twiliglit  cool, 
She  stands  in  the  evening  light ; 
Her  father's  boat's  expected  home 
In  harbour  before  the  night. 

Slie  shades  her  eyes  from  the  setting  sun^ 

And,  gazing  round  and  far, 
Oh!  when  will  his  good  boat  appear, 

Safe  o'er  the  harbour  bar  1 

Her  brave  old  fatlior,  loved  so  well, 

For  he's  her  only  stay  ; 
Brother  and  lover  lie  beneath 

The  ocean's  stormy  way. 

But  now  she  sees  a  sail  appear, 

And  then  another  one  : 
The  fleet  is  coming  into  sight, 

Lit  by  the  setting  sun. 

And  now  her  eye  descries  his  boat — 

She'll  see  him  by-and-by  ; 
But  surely  something's  MTOug  aboard? 

The  flag's  just  half-mast  high  I 

"VYitli  beating  heart  and  eager  haste 

Down  to  the  pier  she  flies ; 
'Oh  I  do  you  see  the  good  Jane  Anne, 

My  father's  boat?'  she  cries. 


Alas  I  too  well  they  all  had  seen. 
Her  friends  and  neighboiirs  kind  ; 

For  now  the  fleet  draws  near  at  hand, 
A  landing-place  to  find. 

The  stauncli  old  boat  across  the  bar 

Comes  slowly  on  apace, 
And  stricken  men  now  tell  their  tale. 

Tears  streaming  down  each  face. 

The  brave  old  sailor  lies  at  rest, 

Down  'neatli  the  silent  -wave  : 
The  ocean  moans  his  funeral  dirge, 

The  seaweeds  round  his  grave. 

'Wild  Tom'  fell  overboard,  and  he 

Leaped  after  him,  to  save  ; 
And  for  that  man's  bad,  worthless  life, 

His  precious  life  he  gave. 

And  is  there  not  another  '  One ' 

For  sinners  such  as  we, — 
Left  His  bright  home,  and  came  to  earth. 

And  died  upon  the  tree  ? 

Oh  !  what  a  debt  of  gratitude 

We  owe  to  Him  above, 
Who  gave  His  life.  His  precious  life. 

In  Love — pure,  perfect,  Love. 

Joanna  McKean. 


THE    STORY    OP    NTJNNIA. 


N  Georgia,  on  Mount  Caucasus,  there 
is  a  tribe  of  people  living  who  were 
anciently  called  Iberians. 

In  the  fourth  century  they  were 
at  war  with  a  neighbouring  people, 
among  whom  Christianity  was  just 
becoming  known,  and  in  one  of  their 
successful  battles  they  took  cajitive  a 
Christian  maiden,  and  sold  her  into 
slavery. 
Poor  little  maiden  I  many  sad  tears  were  shed 
by  her  ;  but  she  took  all  her  troubles  to  her  dear 
Saviour,  and  in  Him  she  found  comfort  and 
strength  to  perform  willingly  all,  and  more  than 
all,  that  was  required  of  her. 

One  day  it  happened  that,  according  to  the 
custom  of  the  country,  a  sick  child  was  being 
carried  about  from  door  to  door,  iu  the  hojie 


that  some  one  woidd  suggest  a  successful  remedy 
and  cure  for  its  ailment. 

It  happened  that  Nunnia  was  standing  near. 
She  was  only  a  slave,  but  the)'  thought  perhaps 
in  her  countr}'  a  remedy  might  be  known  ;  they 
would  ask  her. 

She  answered  that  she  was  only  a  poor  girl, 
and  knew  not  how  to  advise  them  ;  '  but,'  she 
added  with  a  beautiful  smile,  '  I  can  direct  you 
to  One  Who  is  able,  not  only  to  restore  the  child 
to  health,  but  Who  has  more  than  once  re- 
covered the  dead  to  life.' 

They  implored  her  to  fetch  Him. 

The  maiden  retired  to  kneel  in  praj'er  to  the 
dear  Lord  Jesus;  and,  returning  with  the  joyful 
assurance  in  her  heart  that  He  had  heard  her 
petition,  behold,  the  child  opened  its  eyes,  sniii;-^ 
and  got  better  from  that  time. 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


v>i 


The  report  of  this  soon  spread  through  the 
country  and  reached  the  ears  of  the  queen,  who, 
not  long  after  falling  sick  herself,  thought  at 
■once  of  the  little  slave,  and  determined  to  visit 
her. 

The  little  captive  maiden  was  greatly  touched 
at  seeing  her,  and  prayed  again  that  God  would 
liear  her  petition,  and  grant  the  queen  health. 

The  queen,  returning  home,  recovered  slowly  ; 
and  Miraus  the  king  was  so  overjoyed,  that  he 
proposed  to  send  very  rich  and  costly  presents  to 
her  who  was  thought  to  have  performed  so  gi-eat 
a  miracle.  His  wife  assured  him,  however,  that 
this  would  he  unwelcome  to  the  mysterious  child, 
who  despised  all  wealth  and  fame,  and  only- 
desired  for  reward  that  tliey  should  worship  the 
one  true  God  with  her.  The  king  was  astonished, 
but  did  nothing,  and  the  impression  soon  ap- 
peared to  fade  from  his  mind  and  memory. 

Not  long  afterwards,  however,  the  king  hap- 
pened to  lose  himself  in  a  forest,  and,  while 
separated  from  his  courtiers,  a  dense  fog  arose 
which  served  to  entangle  him  still  more  until  lie 
liecame  weary  and  faint,  and  despaired  of  escape 
from  the  maze  of  thickets  that  held  him  prisoner. 

It  was  then  he  remembered  the  Christian 
Nunnia,  who  had  said  that  there  was  no  limit 
to  the  power  of  her  invisible  King  and  God, 
Who,  though  His  throne  was  on  high,  j'ct  was 
jiresent  everywhere  with  those  who  sought  Him  ; 
and,  as  the  thought  rose  up,  he  bent  his  knees 
in  the  forest  glade,  and  prayed  to  the  unknown 
Deity  :  '  0  Thou  \Ylioni  tlie  stranger  calls  her 
God  I  Jesus,  if  Thou  art,  and  art  alniiglity, 
oh,  show  it  now,  and  recover  me  from  this 
danger  and  perplexity  I  If  Thou  wilt  open  for 
nie  escape,  mv  heart,  my  life,  my  all  shall  be 
Thine." 

The  kiug  roused  to  action  by  the  effort  of 
praying  renewed  his  efforts;  and  the  mists 
clearing  away,  he  was  rejoiced  after  a  short  time 
to  recognise  where  he  was  ;  and  he  reached  home 
in  safety  without  further  adventure. 

Deeply  affected,  he  related  ■what  had  befallen 
him  to  his  queen,  and  tliey  no  longer  doubted 
that  the  God  of  the  littie  Christian  slave  was 
the  true  and  living  God,  Wiio  had  shown  Hini- 
iielf  to  be  tlieir  pi'otector  too. 

Tiiey  rightly  thought  tliat  Nunnia  herself 
should  hear  what  things  had  come  to  pass.  And 
from  that  time  the  royal  jjair  might  be  often  seen, 


like  teachable  children,  sitting  M'ith  and  learning 
from  tiie  lowly  slave  ;  and  she  was  rejoiced  to 
tell  them  all  she  knew  of  her  loving  Saviour  and 
His  wonderful  life  and  death. 

Then  happened  a  still  more  strange  and 
wondrous  thing.  Both  king  and  queen  thouglit 
they  could  confer  no  greater  benefit  on  their 
subjects  than  to  proclaim  to  them  that  God 
whom  they  themselves  believed.  So  the  king 
preached  to  the  men,  and  the  queen  to  the 
M'omen  and  children  ;  and  thus  was  Christianity 
first  embi-aced  among  the  Iberians  of  the  fourth 
century.  Krummacheu. 


OUR    DUMB    TEACHERS. 

SOCRATES. 

SOCRATES  is  a  very  learned  fellow,  deeply 
versed  in  the  world  of  nature.  '  Of  course 
he  is  !'  says  the  reader  of  these  lines.  '  Of  course 
he  is  I  He  is  that  celebrated  one  of  all  the  old 
Philosophers  that  we  liave  to  grind  up  at  school; 
the  friend  of  Xenophon,  the  wisest  of  his  time 
and  age,  tlie  martyr  of  his  country.' 

Stop,  stop,  stop,  my  young  friend ;  not  so  fast, 
if  you  please.  We  liave  no  notion  of  taking 
you  back  to  ancient  Greece,  though  it  is  a 
capital  tiling  for  us  all  to  read  the  histories  of 
those  kingdoms  dead  and  gone.  jMv  Socrates 
is  a  very  different  object  of  admiration.  My 
Socrates  is  a  goose  I     Compared  with  yours.   .  . 

A  goose  ? 

Why,  yes,  a-  goose  ;  and  a  very  funny,  learned, 
clever  fellow  he  is,  I  can  assure  you.  But  you 
shall  judge. 

Soc  lives  at  a  big  house  on  the  top  of  a  hill. 
The  children  are  very  fond  of  him,  and  he  of 
them.  Very  often  in  the  summer  their  father 
takes  them  out  in  a  boat,  and  although  the 
water  is  about  a  quarter  to  lialF  a  mile  from  tlie 
house,  Soc  follows  them  down  the  hill,  waddling 
as  fast  as  he  can  after  them,  and  when  the  boat 
is  reached,  bounce  he  goes  into  the  water,  and  as 
they  row  he  paddles  away  in  their  wal:G,  evi- 
dently delighted  to  be  of  the  party. 

If  they  land  anywliere  for  a  stroll,  Soc  lands 
too,  and  amuses  hinisslf  in  the  most  friendly 
way,  turning  his  head  knowingly  from  side  to 
side,  and  making  little  sounds  of  pleasure,  such 
as  only  a  goose  can  make. 

He  has  lately  taken  it  into  his  head  that  the 


124 


SuNDAV  Reading  for  the  YouiXG. 


responsibility  of  protecting  liis  master's  premises 
devolves  on  liim  ;  Lut  his  experience  is  not  yet 
sufficient  to  teach  him  to  know  friends  from 
enemies  on  suspicious  occasions. 


One  morning  the  gardener  and  one  of  the 
■workmen  about  the  place  had  orders  to  go  on 
the  top  of  the  house,  and  to  clear  leaves  and 
rubbish  out  of  the  gutters.     Both  the  men  were 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


125 


well  known  to  Socrates,  and  generally  good 
friends  with  liini.  As  soon,  however,  as  they 
began  to  place  a  ladder  against  the  house  he 
flew  at  them,  and  refused  to  allow  the  work  to 
go  on.  \^'hen  they  went  away  to  ask  how  they 
should  proceed  he  ceased  his  attacks,  but  kept 
watch  over  the  ladder,  talking  to  himself  all  the 
time  in  a  low  voice. 


On  the  men  again  approaching  the  ladder  lie 
again  made  ready  for  battle,  and  had  to  be 
coaxed  by  one  of  the  children  going  out  and 
petting  him,  and  explaining  the  matter  to  him. 
His  suspicions,  however,  were  not  even  then 
entirely  lemoved,  and  lie^kept  a  watchful  eye  on 
the  workmen,  until  the  ladder  was  taken  right 
away.  H. 


=-,V'''v.  ..  !31*ih,.,„„ ^\h':j 


MIXED     PICKLES. 

(Continued  from  page  115.) 

CHAPTER    IX. A    PRINCE    IN    DISGUISE. 


)ORE  good-tempered  than  usual 
next  morning,  nurse  was  easily 
persuaded  by  Bryda  that  the 
village  would  be  quite  the  nicest 
direction  for  a  walk.  She  wanted 
to  see  that  nice  old  Roger  again, 
and  perhaps  they  might  even  meet  Beppo.  She 
begged  a  roll  left  from  breakfast,  and  put  it, 
wrapped  in  a  sheet  of  old  copy-book,  with  some 
pennies,  in  her  pocket. 


The  blacksmith  was  in  his  forge,  and  had 
some  very  important  news  for  nurse,  and  Roger 
was  outside  his  door,  busily  weaving  the  cane 
seat  of  a  chair  he  had  made,  for  he  was  a  Jack- 
of-two-trades,  if  not  of  all  trades,  and  made 
chairs  from  beginning  to  end. 

'  Good  morning,  Roger,'  said  Bryda,  as  she 
came  up. 

'  Good  morning,  missy.  A  good  morning  it 
is,  though  not  like  yesterday.     That  was  a  sort 


12G 


SuxDA  y  Reading  for  the  Young. 


o'  wedding  day,  with  the  world  in  a  green  dress 
■covered  with  jewels  made  of  dewdrojis,  while  the 
hirds  sang  a  hymn,  and  the  great  gold  sun  came 
in  his  Lest  blue  dress  to  marry  her,'  answered 
the  poetical  Roger. 

'  And  to-day,  Roger  ?     AYhat's  that  like  ?' 

'  Ah  1  to-day's  a  good  honest  workin'  day, 
iiiis6}%  made  for  the  busy  bees  and  all  the  Lord's 
workin'  folk.' 

'  Cats  aren't  working  folk,'  said  Bryda,  stroking 
Roger's  sleek  Tabby. 

'  Maybe  cats'  work  is  to  keep  lone  folks 
company,  missy,'  said  the  Disguised  Prince,  for 
as  such  his  little  friend  always  thought  of  liim. 

'  Shall  you  have  cats  in  your  palace  '? '  she 
asked. 

'  That'll  be  as  the  King  pleases,  missy.  I  do 
hope  so,  for  I  be  main  fond  o'  cats.' 

'  Is  Tabby  very  old  ?  she's  very  lazy.' 

'  I  don't  rightly  know  how  old  she  is.  Yon 
see,  missy,  nigh  on  two  years  ago  my  house-cat 
died.  Well,  I  sujipose  the  village  cats  told  each 
other  when  they  met  on  the  house-tops  at  night 


Anyhow  I  never  could  ojien  my  door  of  a 
morning  that  there  wasn't  one  cat,  or  maybe 
two  and  three  cats,  ajiplying  for  the  situation, 
each  one  with  a  lirst-riite  character  from  his  last 
place.' 

Bryda  laughed  heartily.      '  IIow  did  they  tell 

yon?' 

'  How  '?     AYhy,  bless  you,  little  ^liss,  it's  often 


easier  to  know  what  God  Almiglit}''s  brutes 
mean  than  wiiat  men  mean,  for  all  we  call  the 
brutes  dumb.  Tell  me  all  about  it  they  slid,  rub- 
bin"  against  me  and  purrin',  how  the  master  of 
one  had  gone  away,  and  the  mistress  of  another 
was  dead,  and  how  one  was  a  real  good  monser, 
and  another  was  that  honest  lie'd  rather  starve 
tlian  steal. 

'  Well,  the  long  and  short  of  it  is,  missy,  I  took 
Jlrs.  Tabby  for  a  month  on  trial,  to  see  if  she'il 
make  a  good  housekeeper.  An'  we  suited,  she 
and  I,  and  she's  never  given  me  warning  yet,  nor 
I  her,  so  I  don't  think  we'll  part  company  till 
I  go  home.' 

'  When  are  you  going,  Roger?  '  asked  Lryda. 
She  could  nut  help  puzzling  a  good  deal  over 
this  story  of  the  old  man's,  about  his  palace  home ; 
bnt  he  spoke  so  simply  and  natnvallj'  that  she 
could  not  doubt  that  he  spoke  the  truth. 

'  I  don't  rightly  know,"  ho  answered  slowly ; 
'  I'm  tliinking  when  it's  ready  they'll  letme  know. 
But  I'd  be  main  glad  to  staj'  a  little  longer  now, 
iNIiss  Brida,  for  all  I've  often  wearied  to  be  there. 
Shall  I  show  you  why  ?' 

'  Please  do.' 

The  old  carpenter  got  up  and  opened  a  door 
opposite  to  that  which  led  to  his  own  littla  room, 
and  there  Bryda  saw  a  touching  sight. 

The  poor  Italian  woman  was  sitting  propped 
up  with  pillows  in  a  straight-backed  old  arm- 
chair, with  Beppo  in  her  arms.  The  child  seemed 
to  have  grown  sleepy  after  play,  or  perhaps,  like 
his  countrymen,  he  was  accustomed  to  take  a  na]i 
at  midday.  At  all  events,  he  was  sleeping,  and 
the  poor  sick  mother  was  gently  rocking  the 
heavy  boy,  and  singing  a  soft  little  Italian  cradle 
Bong. 

'  Ninni,  niuni,  ninni,  nanna, 
Ninni,  nanna,  ninni,  nolu, 
AUegrezza  di  la  mamma, 
Addormentati,  oli  figliolu.' 

That  is,— 

'  Joy  of  ihy  mother. 
Fall  asleep,  oh,  my  little  son  ! ' 

How  white  she  looked  and  howwearvl  She 
laid  her  fingei-  on  her  lij),  and  looked  at  the  curly 
black  head  on  her  knee.  Roger  closed  tlio  door 
softly,  and  went  back  to  his  scat  on  ti2>toe. 

'  I  think,  missy,'  he  said,  '  it  won't  be  long 
before  the  Everlasting  Arms  are  put  round  her. 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


127 


to  soothe  her  gently  to  sleep,  as  she  do  the  little 
'un; 

'  Is  she  dying,  Eoger?'  asked  Bryda,  in  an 
awe-stricken  voice. 

'  Ay,'  answered  the  carpenter  wiping  his 
spectacles,  which  had  snddenly  grown  dim. 
'  That  little  black  head  '11  not  long  have  a  mother 
to  lean  against ;  though  she'll  want  for''nothing 
as  I  can  get  her,  and  Doctor  he  sent  her  full  two 
phits  o'  stuff,  all  for  nothing.  But  he  shook  his 
head,  he  did,  and  I  know  what  he  means  by  that 
only  too  well ;  he  did  it  to  my  Liz  iive-and- 
tweuty  year  ago,  come  jMarch  next.' 

Bryda  felt  very  sorrowful.  Her  own  mother 
had  gone  to  India,  but  then  she  wrote  letters, 
nice  long  ones,  everj'  week.  And  she  would 
come  back.  But  poor  Beppo  would  liave  no 
letter  from  his  mother  if  once  she  went  away,  as 
.she  knew  lioger's  loved  wife  Liz  had  done,  for 
there  was  an  old  gravestone  by  the  old  church 
door  with  that  one  little  word  roughly  cut  upon 
it — '  Liz.'     And  on  it  last  Sunday  she  had  seen 


the  old  man  lay  a  bunch  of  fresh  flowers,  as  he 
2)assed  in  to  pray. 

'  Will  you  share  your  riches  with  her,  Roger — 
that  money  you  told  mo  you  had  stored  away  T 
she  asked. 

'  My  hid  treasure,  missy  ?  Ah,  that  I  will  \ 
There's  so  much  o'  tliat — ah,  so  much  I — that  I 
might  share  it  wi'  every  soul  as  passed  tlie  door 
and  he  none  the  worse  oft'  mysel'.' 

'  You  won't  want  it  in  your  palace,  will  you  ? 
Or  is  there  more  of  it  there?  Chests  and  chests  of 
precious  things  all  the  palaces  in  fairy  tales  have 
in  them.  But  they  are  only  nia<le  up,'  added 
Bryda,  with  a  little  sigh.  '  That's  the  worst  of 
fairy  tales.  But  your  treasures  are  really  true, 
aren't  they,  Roger?' 

'  True  when  all  else  is  false,  missy  ;  safe  when 
all  else  is  lost ;  real  when  all  else  is  a  sham.' 

Bryda  longed  to  ask  more  about  tliis  wonder- 
ful wealth   of  the  old  man  who  lookeil  so  poor. 
He  must  be  a  miser,  she  thought. 
(To  he  continued.) 


T 


NATURE    GIVES    AND    TAKES. 

Illi;   groat  ocean  is  in   a  constant  state  of      into  clouds ;  and  so  tliere  is  rain  on  the  fields, 
eA-a|ii'iration.     It  gives  back  what   it  re-       dew    on    the    mountains,    and    greenness    and 

beauty  everywhere. 


It  gives  back  what   it  re- 
ceives, and  sends  up  its  waters  in  mist  to  gather 


NELLIE'S 

POOR  Pussy  was  homeless, 
With  no  kindly  friend 
To  give  her  some  food, 

Or  her  wants  to  attend. 
Her  fur  was  so  ragged 

That  smooth  should  have  been, 
And  stained  with  the  dust, 
It  never  was  clean. 

But  Puss  knew  a  corner 

Where  she  was  secure, 
T(j  bask  in  the  sun 

And  always  feel  sure 
Of  safety  in  there  : 

Quite  hid  from  the  boys. 
Who  would  chase  her  away 

With  shottting  and  noise. 

Her  wee  children  three 

Were  grow-ing  so  wild, 
She  really  must  find 

Some  kind  loving  chiliJ- 


KINDNESS. 

Who'd  give  them  a  home 
And  feed  them  with  care, 

No  need  more  to  roam 
About  here  and  there. 

Litrie  Nell  was  at  home 

When  Pussy  Avent  by 
With  three  little  kits. 

Tails  ever  so  high. 
'  Here,  Puss  1  come  in  here — 

Here's  a  plate  of  nice  milk, 
'Twill  malce  your  coat  soft. 

And  shine  too  like  s.'"k.' 

Nellie's  mother  allowed 

Her  to  keep  the  dear  cats  r. 
And  Puss  freed  the  house 

From  mice  and  from  rats. 
Thus,  dear  little  cliildren, 

Learn  Idndness  to  show. 
And  happiness,  surely, 

Will  follow,  we  know. 


128 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


The  Pussy's  New  Home. 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


129 


At  the  West  End. 


ISO 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young^ 


.1.  STORY    OI"    POTS  AND   KETTLES, 

{Concluded  from  page  107.) 

HE  sliadows  cast  by  tlie  after- 
noon sun  grew  longer  and 
longer  wliile  the  tinker  and  liis 
audience  sat  still  as  mice  under 
the  old  school  wall — still  as 
mice,  except  for  the  voice  of  the 
man  as  he  related  his  '  Tinker's 
Story '  to  the  children. 

'  It's  many  a  long  year,'  said 
lie,  '  since  I  can  remember 
Tanning  about  as  you  do,  with  a  hoop  or  a  ball ; 
and  then  it  was  not  in  the  country  at  all,  but  in 
a  dark,  smoky,  city  lane,  where  in  the  hot 
sinniiier  months  there  was  scarcely  air'  to 
"3)Teathe,  and  in  the  winter  time,  the  wind 
«oming  round  the  baker's  shop  at  the  comer, 
"was  enough  to  cut  j'ou  in  two. 

'  Yet  those  were  happy  days,  for  I  had  a 
Jather  and  mother ;  and  father — he  was  a  car- 
jienter — when  he  could  get  a  day  or  a  half-day 
as  a  holiday,  would  take  us  aWay  up  the  Green 
Lanes,  Hornsey  waj^,  or,  perhaps,  out  to  the  Red 
House  at  Battersea — they  were  all  fields  about 
■Jlieis  then  ;  and,  oh  I  what  splendid  days  they 
TB-DTe  when  we  ran  about  the  country  and 
gathered  the  flowers  and  grasses,  and  took  great 
iimches  home  to  make  the  rooms  look  nice ! 

'Mother  sometimes  came,  I  can  just  remember 
icT.  She  was  a  slight,  delicate-looking  woman, 
aBTlhing  but  strong,  and  so  our  walks  were 
ajaijiiy  done  without  her :  but  she  used  to  re- 
joice when  we  took  her  home  the  flowers  or 
touches  of  bloom  that  we  managed  to  gather. 

'  Madge  and  I  used  always  to  see  who  could 
get  the  most  for  mother.' 

'  Madge  I  Who  was  Madge  ?  '  asked  Johnny 
Maze. 

'  Madge  was  Margeiy,  my  sister,  but  I'd 
forgotten  I  hadn't  told  you  her  name.' 
'  Tliat's  my  name,'  said  Margery. 
'Ah,  well!'  continued  the  tinker,  'those  daj's 
Trere  all  happiness,  and  looking  back  I  can 
Siardly  believe  I  was  that  happy  little  fellow, 
•without  a  care  or  a  pain,  or  anything  to  trouble 
ane.' 

"Tlien  why  did  you  be  a  tinker?'  asked 
jOTing  Bob,  with  queer  expression. 

'Ah,  I'm  coming  to  that,  young  sir ;  don't 


you  think  it's  all  fun  to  be  a  tinker  like  me,  or 
you  may  find  out  your  mistake. 

'Mother,  she  kept  up  as  long  as  she  could;  she 
was  in  a  decline,  they  said ;  but  she  had  never 
done  working  for  us,  and  I  take  it  that  killed 
her, — that  and  father.' 

'  Why,  what  did  he  do  ?  '  asked  one,  softly. 

'Why,  he  was  a  carpenter,  and  worked  in  a  large 
shed  with  a  lot  of  others.  One  day,  some  care- 
less fellow,  in  dinner-time,  droppsd  a  match 
after  lighting  his  pipe,  and  left  it  among  some 
shavings,  and  before  anything  was  known  of  it 
the  place  was  a-blaze.  Father  was  taking  a  nap 
under  the  bench,  and  no  one  knew  it ;  only  after 
searching  for  him  everywhere  else  did  they 
think  of  the  shop,  and  then  they  broke  in 
through  the  flames  and  dragged  him  out, 
insensible  and  much  burnt ;  but  the  worst  was, 
the  flames  had  taken  away  his  sight,  and  before 
he  had  beea  three  days  in  hospital  mother  Imew 
that  he  was  blind — he  would  never  see  any  of  us 
again. 

'  That  killed  her,  she  never  held  up  her  head 
after  that;  and  six  months  afterwards  the  parish 
gave  her  a  grave  in  the  cemetery  not  far  away. 

'I  was  only  a  lad  then,  but  I  had  to  be  father, 
and  mother,  and  brother  too,  for  Madge  was 
delicate  at  the  chest,  just  like  her  mother,  and 
hard  fare,  and  few  comforts,  dida't  improve  her 
condition. 

'  So  jiist  at  the  age  when  other  boj's  are 
thinking  of  tops,  and  marbles,  and  hoops,  I  had 
to  think  how  I  was  to  earn  enough  to  keep 
three  of  us  from  starving. 

'  Many's  the  day  I  have  taken  poor  father  and 
his  chair  to  the  comer  of  the  steps  at  the  West 
End,  where  he  used  to  sit  all  daj',  not  so  much  to 
beg  as  to  get  good  fresh  air,  and  give  him  some- 
thing to  do  and  think  about,  else  he'd  mope  in 
a  corner  if  left  at  home  ;  and  then,  having  seen 
him  safe  in  his  place,  I've  gone  off  to  work, 
sometimes  at  this,  sometimes  at  tliat,  but  alwaj^s, 
somehow,  in  the  tinman's  trade.  No  one  would 
take  me  'prentice,  and  so  I  was  hardly  ever  able 
to  keep  a  situation  long;  but  one  time  and 
another  I  picked  up  a  little  knowledge,  and  by 
keeping  m}'  eyes  open,  and  my  mouth  shut, 
learnt  sufiioient  to  set  up  on  my  own  account. 

'  I  need  not  tell  you  all  we  have  had  to  suffer, 
or  how  at  last  I  got  to  be  really  a  tinker;  but 
you'll  see  it  is  not  all  profit,  or  I  should  not  be 


•Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


-LSfi. 


liere  now,  with  only  a  shop  on  wheels,  instead 
of  a  flom'ishing  business  in  some  town. 

'  But  then,  youngsters,  there's  the  old  father 
and  Madge.  She's  a  woman  now ;  yes !  she's 
grown  up,  and  takes  care  of  him ;  and  we  two 
have  never  forgotten  what,  perhaps,  some  of 
you  don't  always  remember — how  much  you 
owe  to  your  parents,  and  how  you  can  never 
do  enough  for  them.  Every  Saturday,  when  I 
can't  ggt  home  to  them,  I  send  her  as  much  as 
ever  I  can  of  my  week's  money,  and  Madge 
saves  all  she  can  of  it,  and  does  my  banking 
for  me. 

'  Just  think  of  a  tinker  having  a  bank  I  And 
then  there's  one  thing  about  my  bank,  I  never 
take  any  money  out  of  it.  I  always,  every  week, 
earn  enough  to  buy  me  food  and  lodging,  or  else 
I  stai-ve.' 

'  Do  you  ever  go  hungry  ? '  asked  little  Madge, 
very  timidly. 

His  eyes  were  answer  enough,  and  told  as 
plainly  as  possible  that  he  had  had  no  breakfast. 
This  was  why  the  first  slice  of  bread  came  across 
the  road  presently  in  Madge's  apron,  and  was 
followed  soon  after  by  Mrs.  Jansen's  hunch  of 
bread  and  cheese. 

The  sun  was  setting  when  the  tinker's  story 
was  done,  and  he  asked  the  lads  again,  '  Well, 
Johnny,  how  now,  you  and  your  friend,  vfould 
you  still  like  to  be  a  tinker,  really  ?  ' 

'  I'll  wait,'  said  Bob. 

'  No  I  it  seems  too  hard  ; '  cried  Jack, '  but  I'll 
be  a  soldier,  and  then  I  shall  wear  a  red  coat 
and  have  nothing  to  do.' 

'  I  don't  know  so  miich  about  that,  but  you 
may  believe  a  tinker  when  he  says  there  are 
easier  things  than  making  a  fortune  by  mending 
pots  and  kettles.'  Xav. 


NEWSPAPERS. 

"I  E  are  indebted  to  Queen  Eliza- 
beth and  Lord  Burleigh  for 
the  first  printed  newspaper, 
which  was  enti  tied  the  J^ngi^isA 
Mercitrie.  The  earliest  num- 
ber is  still  in  the  British  Museum  Librarj',  and 
bears  the  date  of  July  23,  1588. 

During  the  civil  wars  periodical  papers  were 
extensively  circulated,  and  were  edited  by  men 
of  great  ability. 


In  the  reign  of  Queen  Anne  there  was  but  <xj& 
daily  paper,  the  Daily  Courant.  The  first  piis- 
vincial  journal  in  England  was  the  Orojigc 
T'ostman,  started  in  iUTOG. 

The  earliest  Scottish  newspaper  appeared  wstSas 
the  patronage  of  Cromwell,  in  1G52. 

But  what  a  stride  has  been  taken  since  those 
days  in  the  production  and  distribution  of  news- 
papers, when  we  think  that  at  the  present  day 
there  are  a  dozen  or  more  published  daily  in  the 
City  of  London  alone,  and  that  the  machines  by 
which  these  are  printed  can  throw  off  20,0(XJ 
impressions  an  hour  with  ease  1 

Could  Laurence  Coster,  the  old  Dutch  Beadle, 
cutting  his  bits  of  beech  bark  into  letter-shapes, 
or  John  Gutenberg  of  Mayence,  secretly  workiuij 
his  first  ponderous  machine  for  printing,  look 
across  the  five  hundred  years  that  are  gone, 
and  see  what  is  done  in  the  way  of  producia^ 
books  now,  they  would  scarce  believe  their  oiatit 
eyes. 

Coxild  William  Caxton,  the  Father  of  Englkfe 
Printing,  who  set  up  his  press  in  the  preciacfe 
of  Westminster  Abbey  in  the  last  years  of  the 
fifteenth  century,  could  he  see  the  advance  that 
has  been  made  since  he  wrought  at  his  sbw 
screw-press,  he  woiild  be  unable  to  grasp  all  tks 
growth  and  spread  of  books  and  literature, 
which  spring  from  his  first  labours  as  the 
pioneer  in  this  region  of  art 

And  the  one  thing  that  has  wrought  the  magie 
change  is  the  invention  of  the  steam-printiag 
press,  which,  from  the  day  when  it  was  adopted 
in  the  Times  printing-office  in  the  early  j'ears  of 
this  century,  has  been  subjected  to  continual  im- 
provements, until,  from  5000  to  10,000,  it  has 
reached  20,000  an  hour.  Of  course  it  is  impos- 
sible to  '  lay  on '  such  a  large  number  ia  this 
time,  but  by  a  most  ingenious  invention  tlie 
machine  feeds  itself  from  a  huge  reel  containiag 
two  or  three  miles  of  paper.  A  boy  can  '  lay  oa'' 
about  1000  sheets  of  white  paper  in  the  Iwuc, 
and  another  takes  them  off  filled  with  reading 
from  top  to  bottom.  Both  have  to  be  attentwe 
and  patient  while  at  work. 

The  Times  newspaper  contains  usually  seventy- 
two  cohimns — 17,500  lines — made  up  of  over  & 
million  pieces  of  type,  of  which  more  than  oae- 
half  is  often  written  and  corrected  after  sevea 
in  the  evening,  to  be  sold  everywhere  the  nezfi 
morning. 


132 


Sunday Readiag  for  the  Young. 


Laj'ing  on. 

,  Could  the  first  inventors  ot  printing  come  City  of  London  alone ;  and,  instead  of  the  slow 
among  us  now,  they  would  find  more  than  six  process  of  copying  out  an  author's  work  in 
hundred  steam-printing  presses  at  work  in  the      manuscript,   which   they  would   recollect,   they 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young 


133 


would  see  hundreds  of  copies  of  tlie  same  book, 
all  printed  and  bound  alike,  every  one  with  the 
same  pictures,  down  to  the  smallest  details — 
facsimiles  of  one  another,  being  issued  from  one 
warehouse  iu  a  single  day. 

But  the  greatest  triumph  of  printing  is  to  be 


found  in  the  reproduction  of  the  Bible,  for  by 
this  truly  noble  art  the  Scriptures,  instead  of 
being  copied  slowly  by  hand,  have  been  printed 
in  every  language  and  dialect  of  the  world,  and 
millions  of  copies  of  the  Word  of  God  have  been 
distributed  over  the  world. 


A 


is  young  Alphy, 
A  fearless  young  Turk ; 
Yet  often  in  see-saw 
Perils  may  lurk. 


A  9  C    SAW. 

(sEE-SAW). 


Carrie,  is  looking 
To  see  it's  all  fair; 
Yet  scarcely  contented 
To  think  she's  not  there. 


--V^ 


L 


vv,v!!^S^  ,.;tv  f-K-'JfMk  I. » 


Tr>n, 


B  is  a  baby 

Without  any  shoes ; 

When  he  touches  the  ground 

His  balance  he'll  lose. 


Babies  all  three, 
Brimful  of  glee. 
Between  you  and  me. 
The  game's  ABC. 


S.  A.  C. 


If 


MIXED    PICKLES. 

(Continued  from  page  127.) 


1)  OGER,  are  all  the  King's  sons  as  rich  as 
JL  \j  you  are  ?  and  his  daughters  ?  or  are  you 
the  eldest'?' 

'  There's  enough  for  all  alike,  missy.  No  one's 
too  rich  or  too  poor  in  our  Father's  house.  But 
our  Elder  Brother,  missy,  there's  none  like  Him — 
none.  The  only  wonder  is  as  He  isn't  ashamed 
of  His  sisters  and  brothers,  so  far  as  He  is  above 
them,  and  so  much  greater  than  ever  since  His 
work  was  finished.' 


'  Oh,   do  tell   me  about  Him !      Oh,   nurse 
don't  go   on  yet,   please  I'  implored    Bryda,   as 
nurse  came  up  the  little  garden-path  with  hasty 
step. 

But  nurse  would  not  stay.  She  always  said 
she  '  couldn't  abide  that  old  Methody  carpenter  ;' 
and  the  real  reason  of  her  dislike  was  that  once 
before,  when  she  had  brought  Bryda  to  stay  with 
the  grannies,  old  Roger  had  said  something  she 
did  not  cave  to  hear,  because  she  had  helped  to 


134 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


spread  a  cruel  miscluef-maldng  story  about  the 
village. 

So  Bryda  left  her  roll  and  her  pence  with 
Roger,  and  went  on  witli  nurse. 

Eryda  bad  not  seen  the  last  of  Beppo  for  that 
day.  There  was  a  private  walk  through  the 
grounds,  which  led  to  the  churcli.  The  grannies 
could  not  walk  so  far,  and  the  old  carriage 
always  came  to  take  them  to  church.  But  this 
afternoon,  as  Bryda  was  wandering  in  the 
garden,  it  struck  her  that  she  would  like  to  take 
some  flowers  and  put  them  on  the  grave  of 
Eoger's  dear  Liz.  It  would  please  the  old  man 
to  see  them  there. 

Bryda,  of  course,  had 
never  seen  Liz. 

'  But  I  know  exactly 
what  she  was  like,'  she  told 
herself.  '  She  was  not  very 
tall,  but  just  nice  ;  and  she 
had  violet  eyes  and  long 
black  lashes,  and  pretty 
rosy  cheeks — not  too  red, 
but  pink  hke  a  peach.  Oh, 
I  know  she  was  nice  !  And 
she  always  wore  a  brown 
gown  and  a  red  handker- 
chief ciossed  on  her  chest. 
And  I  don't  wonder  Roger 
loved  her.  I  shoiild  too,  for 
she  always  spoke  gently, 
not  like  nurse.' 

So  Bryda  grew  quite 
fond  of  the  Liz  she  had 
thus  invented  while  she 
gathered  her  flowers. 

'  I  wonder  what  flower  Liz  was  like?  Cousin 
Salome  says  we  ought  all  to  be  like  flowers  in 
God's  garden.  If  we  are,  I'd  rather  be  like  some 
flowers  than  others.  Here  is  a  tall  orange  lily. 
Oh,  you  great,  showy  tiling !  how  stiff  and 
proud  you  are  !  And  I  teU  you  you're  not  so 
verij  pretty  after  all,'  said  Bryda,  severely. 

The  orange  lily  did  not  seem  to  mind  in  the 
least,  but  stood  up  just  as  proudly  as  ever. 

'  You  popples,  red  and  white,'  went  on  Bryda, 
'  you  have  much  nicer  manners  :  you're  like 
ladies  who  are  polite  as  well,  and  say  nicely, 
"  How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Jones '?  \YiIl  you  sell  nie 
some  chickens,  please?"  You  yellow  flowers — 
I  don't  know  your  name — you're  very  nice  till 


one  comes  close,  and  then  you  smell  horrid.  I 
think  you  are  like  people  who  are  very  polite  to 
strangers,  but  are  nasty  and  cross  at  home,  and 
slap  when  they  play  games.' 

'  You,  dear  roses,'  she  went  on,  talking  to  aU 
the  flowers  in  turn,  '  you  are  really  too  lovely  1 
But  I  mustn't  put  you  on  Liz's  grave,  because 
the  grannies  don't  like  you  gathered;  you  are 
like  beautiful  la.dles  in  pictures,  who  get  prettier 
and  prettier  if  you  go  on  looldng  at  them. 

'  Here  are  pansies — heart's-ease,  nurse  calls- 
them.  That  is  the  right  flower  for  Liz  I  She 
was  so  gentle,  and  good,  and  kind,  that  she 
made  evei-y  one  happy.  If 
you  fell  down  and  were 
hurt,  or  if  you  had  that 
horrid  ache  all  over,  that 
comes  of  being  naughty  or 
unhappy,  and  you  told  Liz, 
she  would  make  you  all 
right  in  no  time.  She  shall 
have  heart's  -  ease  on  her- 
grave  and  nothing  else,  ex- 
cept a  little  mignonette,  for 
that  is  quiet  and  sweet  like 
she  was.' 

So  Bryda  twisted  up  a 
pretty  wreath  of  heart's- 
ease  and  mignonette,  tO' 
take  to  the  grave  of  this 
Liz,  whose  looks  and  cha- 
racter you  see  she  had  in- 
vented for  herself,  for  you 
know  if  the  carpenter  was. 
really  a  prince  in  disguise, 
of  course  his  wife  and 
daughter  were  princesses.  Bryda  would  take 
the  first  possible  chance  of  asking  old  Roger 
more  about  his  Brother  and  about  the  palace, 
and  if  he  would  not  be  sorry  that  Liz  could 
never  go  there  with  him.  Meanwhile  she  set  off 
down  the  pretty  shrubbery  walk  with  her  simple 
little  wreath  to  lay  on  the  princess's  grave. 

'  Xo  one  would  call  her  Princess  Liz.  I  sup- 
pose she  was  Princess  Elizabeth,'  she  said  to- 
herself.  [To  he  continued.) 


INNOCEJNCE. 

Innocence  is  like  polished  armour — it  adonis 
even  while  it  protects. 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


135 


ONLY   A  HALFPENNT ! 

?E  was  but  a  crossing-sweeper,  poor 
fellow  I  Who  could  be  expected  to 
take  notice  of  him?  No  coat  or 
hat,  a  few  tattered  garments,  and  a 
wretched,  half- worn  broom — these 
were  all  his  worldly  possessions. 
Yet,  that  quiet  Sunday  evening, 
when  none  were  thinking  of  him,  a  figure  crept 
softly  up  to  the  open  church  door,  and  from  the 
dark  shadow  outside  peered  in  at  the  kneeling 
worshipjiers.  What  was  it  ?  Curiosity  ?  awe  ? 
devotion  ?  fear  ? 

A  mixture  of  all,  perhaps ;  and  yet  it  was  a 
halfpenny  did  it — only  a  halfpenny  I 

The  curate  of  St.  Mark's  had  passed  his 
crossing  the  day  before,  and  had  spoken  to  him. 

'  Will  you  come  to  our  school,  lad,  if  I  give 
you  a  ticket  ?  What  ?  no  clothes  ?  Never  mind, 
perhjips  we  may  find  a  way  out  of  that  difficulty 
if  you  come,  and  we'll  try  and  teach  you  what 
is  right  and  good.     Think  it  over,  and  come.' 

And  as  he  reached  the  pavement  a  halfpenny 
dropped  into  the  boy's  hand.  He  knew  the 
gentleman,  he  was  curate  at  St.  Mark's. 

This  Sunday  evening  he  has  a  look  at  them 
through  the  open  door.  Next  Sunday — who 
knows  ? — he  may  find  his  way  to  school.  One 
kind  word  has  done  its  work  already,  and  a  half- 
penny— only  a  halfpenny  is  not  much,  but  it 
may  work  wonders  if  God  blesses  it.  And 
about  that  crossing-sweeper ;  who  knows  ?  His 
was  a  hard  lot,  though  a  common  story  enough. 
Almost  before  he  knew  the  meaning  of  those 
loving  words,  father  or  mother,  the  lad  was  a 
waif  and  a  sti'ay  at  ten  years  old,  with  all  the 
battle  of  life  before  him,  and  not  one  friend  to 
watch  over  him.  Yes !  stay,  Sammy  had  one 
Friend,  who  never  fails  to  know  and  to  see.  God 
was  watching  over  him,  though  he  knew  it  not. 
A  loving  Father  it  was  who  ordered  it  that  the 
curate  should  pass  Sam's  way,  and  sow  the 
little  seed  which  was  to  tear  fruit. 

Sam  stood  at  the  half-open  door,  and  peeped 
in  ;  there  was  an  air  of  comfort  in  the  well- 
lighted  church  that  was  tempting  enough,  but 
he  dared  not  go  in. 

'  Fancy,'  thought  he,  '  what  the  grand  folks 
would  say  to  me  if  they  saw  me,  the  crossing- 
boy,  walking  into  their  dmrch  with  bare  feet 
and  a  broom  I'     But  though  he  did  not  go  in,  he 


stayed  there  outside  to  listen,  and  listen  he  did  ; 
he  could  hear  some  of  the  prayers,  tliough  he  did 
not  understand  them ;  he  liked  the  organ  and  the 
sound  of  many  voices  in  tlie  beautiful  hynm, 
though  it  was  the  music  and  not  the  words 
that  reached  his  heart;  and  then  the  curate's 
clear  voice — very  sharp  and  clear — came  down 
the  vaulted  church,  and  Sam  felt  drawn  in  a 
mysterious  way  which  he  could  not  explain,  but 
which  clearly  moved  him,  towards  that  young 
man,  who  could  be  so  grand  and  clever  amongst 
the  rich  people,  and  yet'  had  a  thought  and  a 
halfpenny  to  spare  for  him. 

Monday  afternoon,  at  the  old  crossing,  tlie 
curate  passed  again ;  this  time  he  nodded. 
'  Well,  lad,  coming  to  school  ?  I  hope  so.'  An- 
other nod — no  halfpenny.  He  was  not  going 
to  bribe  the  boy. 

Wednesday  morning  he  came  tliat  way  again, 
this  time  a  friend  with  him.  Sam  got  only  a 
nod,  he  was  evidently  busy. 

Thursday,  no  curate  came,  and  Sam  missed 
him.  There  was  a  want  somewhere.  That 
night  as  he  lay  on  his  rough  bed  of  straw  and 
counted  his  little  hoard  of  coppers,  put  away  in 
a  chink  in  the  floor,  Sam  was  counting  the  cost 
of  an  important  stej) — becoming  a  scholar  in  St. 
Mark's  Sunday  School,  and  the  necessary  pur- 
chase of  a  pair  of  boots  to  that  end. 

Friday  came,  and  he  could  not  rest.  The 
crossing  for  once  was  neglected,  and  Sam. 
marched  along  in  the  dii-ection  of  St.  Mark's, 
with  his  broom  over  his  shoulder,  a  thoughtful 
expression  on  his  jiinched  face,  and  an  eager 
longing  to  see  the  curate. 

Once  again  he  peeped  in  at  the  open  door,  this 
time  of  an  empty  church.  No ;  a  woman  was 
there,  busy  at  work  dusting  the  cushions  and 
chairs. 

Sam  j)hicked  up  courage  to  enter.  Mi's. 
Meekin  looked  up  from  her  work  and  saw  him. 
'  What  is  it,  lad  ?  Are  you  looking  for  the 
clergyman  ? ' 

'  I  want  to  see  tlie  gentleman  who  preached 
last  Sundajr,'  timidly  answered  he. 

'  I  can't  tell  when  he  may  be  down  here. 
You'd  better  go  to  the  schools  and  find  him 
there,'  she  replied.  '  You  go  and  ask  for  the 
curate,  and ' 

'Who  wants  me?'  said  a  quiet  vojce  behind 
them.  (To  U  conHnued.) 


136 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


Was  it  Curiosity,  or  Fear  ? 


SUNDA  V  ReADIAG  FOR   THE  Yo  UNO. 


137- 


Anxious  Expectation. 

T 


08 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


ONLY  A   HALFPENNY  1 

(Coiitimwd  from  page  135.) 

HERE    was   no   mistaking   the 

voice,   and   they   turned,  quite 

startled,  to  see  the  curate  himself. 

'  Why,  it's  my  young  friend 

in  the  street  I     You  want  me  ? 

Well,  come  along,'  and  he  led 

the   way  into  the  vestry,   and 

listened  to  Sam's  stammering  story, 

as  he  said  how  he  would  like  to  come  to 

school  to  learn,   hut  had  no  money  to 

pay,  scarcely  enough  to  buy  a  pair  of 

boots  to  make  him  decent  as  to  his  feet. 

The  clergyman  heard  him  to  the  end,  the  glad 

3ook  on  his  face  deepening  as  the  boy  went  on. 

'  You  have  done  well,  my  boy ;  better  than 
I  should  have  thought.  God  helps  those  who 
■do  their  best  to  help  themselves,  and  we  must 
try  and  cojiy  Him  in  His  dealings.  You  have 
given  me  much  to  think  of,  but  you  may  come,' 
he  added,  as  he  wrote  something  on  a  piece  of 
paper ;  '  you  may  come  to  me  to-night  to  this 
address,  and  then  I'll  tell  you  what  I  have 
managed  about  the  school.' 

Sammy's  heart  was  very  light  as  he  trudged 
along  after  dark  to  his  ajjpointment ;  he  felt 
quite  important,  and  all  day  long  at  the  crossing 
he  had  been  constantly  feeling  in  his  poor  old 
waistcoat-jjocket  if  the  piece  of  paper  was  quite 
safe. 

He  was  evidently  expected  at  the  curate's 
lodgings.  An  elderly  woman,  with  a  pleasant 
motherly  look  on  her  face,  opened  the  door.  She 
knew  who  he  wanted  before  he  spoke.  '  Come 
in,'  she  said ;  and,  leaving  his  broom  outside 
against  the  area-railings,  it  seemed  to  Sam  as 
he  stepped  over  the  threshold  as  if  he  were 
leaving  his  old  life  behind  him.  It  was  so,  the 
crossing  and  the  broom  went  together ;  hence- 
forth he  was  to  touch  neither  aa;ain. 


The  next  morning's  sun  rose  bright  and  clear 
over  the  calm,  blue  waters  of  the  Solent,  and  the 
wooded  heights  of  the  Hampshire  Coast.  The 
sea  was  as  still  as  a  mill-pond,  its  surface  dotted 
over  with  the  sails  of  the  yachts  that  spread 
.their  white  wings  like  gulls  in  everj'  direction. 

On  the  pier  at  Kyde,  in  the  Isle  of  Wight,  sat 


a  lad  in  sailor  costume,  and  every  now  and 
again  he  got  up  and  paced  to  and  fro  with  an  im- 
patient air,  eagerly  scanning  the  opposite  coast 
and  the  movements  of  a  j'acht  in  the  distance. 

'  I  wish  they  would  come,'  he  said  to  himself. 
'  How  late  they  are  1  and  the  Gazelle  seems  as 
lazy  as  the  rest.'  Presently  he  was  joined  by  a 
lady  and  two  bright-looking  girls.  '  No  signs 
of  them  yet,  mother  I  What  can  have  kept 
them?' 

'  We  cannot  tell,  Arthur  dear.  Your  father 
was  not  certain  what  he  would  have  to  do  when 
he  was  suddenly  called  to  London,  but  his  letter 
tells  us  all  is  well,  and  that  we  may  expect  him 
to-day,  so  you  must  curb  your  impatience  for 
awhile.'  (To  ie  continued.) 


MIXED     PICKLES. 

{Continued  from  page  135.) 

CHAP.  X. BEPPO'S  FRIEND. 

WAY  went  Miss  Bryda,  with 
her  head  full  of  Liz  and   her 
charms,  the  flowers  in  her  hand, 
to  the  churchyard. 
-^  ^  jp-^  It  was  peaceful  there  in  the 

"piyM  ~  quiet  September  sunshine,  and 

Bi\dT  felt  sorry  to  think  that  the  dead  people 
could  not  see  how  pretty  their  quiet  resting- 
place  looked.  It  was  a  large  churchyard,  with 
some  old  vaults,  and  white  crosses  over  newer 
graves ;  indeed,  many  generations  of  old  and 
young  were  asleep  there.  It  was  a  citj'  of  rest, 
with  the  gray  old  church  for  its  temple  in  the 
middle ;  and  its  streets  were  mossy  paths,  as 
unlike  as  possible  to  the  great,  noisy,  restless 
streets  of  the  big  towns  of  the  living. 

Bryda  put  her  green  wi'eath  with  its  purple 
and  yellow  stars  on  the  humble  grave,  where 
there  was  no  grand  inscription  like  that  to  Sir 
Jocelyn  de  Wraymont  close  by,  with  all  his 
virtues  in  capital  letters  after  his  name ;  but 
only  that  one  word  'Liz.' 

Then  she  went  and  tried  the  door  of  the 
old  church.  It  was  open ;  the  vicar  never 
allowed  the  building  to  be  closed,  unless  there 
was  some  urgent  reason,  so  that  any  one  who 
wanted  to  think  or  to  pray  quietly  might  come 
in  there.  At  first  the  village  people  thought 
this   an  odd  idea,  but  after  a  little  time,   first 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


139 


one  and  then  another  found  out  this  qniet  refuge 
and  slipped  in.  There  was  always  service 
moniiug  and  evening  for  those  who  conld  spare 
time  to  attend ;  and  though  the  worshippers 
were  alwaj's  few,  yet,  as  the  vicar  said,  '  they 
could  pray  for  everybody,  and  the  Father  was  so 
gracious,  that  if  oaly  two  or  three  were  met 
together  it  would  please  Him.' 

When  Bryda  went  in  there  was  nohody  in  the 
building  but  an  old  man,  who  had  just  risen  and 
was  going  out  on  tip-toe,  with  the  sunshine  from 
a  painted  window  on  his  bent,  white  head. 
Bryda  felt  sorry  for  him,  he  seemed  so  old  and 
feeble :  she  would  have  been  still  more  sorry  had 
she  known  that  it  was  the  evil  doing  of  his  two 
sons,  and  even  of  his  daughter,  for  he  was  Moll 
Dawsou's  old  father,  that  made  him  look  old- 
and  bent  before  his  time  ;  sounds  of  quarrelling 
were  so  often  heard  from  the  uncomfortable  cot- 
tage he  called  home,  that  he  often  escaped  to  the 
quiet  church.  There  he  would  sit  by  the  hour, 
sometimes  with  tears  rolling  slowly  down  his 
furrowed  cheeks,  and  then  go  home  very  weary, 
for  when  we  are  young  we  are  not  much  the 
worse  for  '  a  good  cry,'  but  old  people's  tears  are 
few  and  bitter. 

Bryda  watched  this  old  man  go  out,  and  then 
stood  still,  wondering  whether  she  should  go  in 
herself,  when  her  attention  was  attracted  by  a 
low  sound,  like  that  of  some  one  sobbing  quietly. 
She  listened ;  the  sound  stopped  a  moment,  then 
began  again.  It  was  certainly  some  one  crying, 
and  for  a  moment  she  felt  half  I'rightened,  for 
she  could  not  .see  any  one. 

Then  a  better  thought  came.  Perhaps  she 
could  try  and  comfort  some  one  who  was  un- 
happy, and  that  might  be  a  little  hit  of  the 
'Lord's  work.'  She  had  once  heard  her  mother 
say  that  a  child  was  sometimes  the  best  of  all 
earthly  comforters. 

So  very  quietly  she  stole  up  the  side-aisle,  and 
there,  behind  a  pillar,  she  found — Beppo  '. 

Yes,  poor  little  Beppo  I  Crouched  on  the 
ground,  half  kneeling,  leaning  against  the  cold 
]iillar,  the  poor  child  with  passionate  sobs  seemed 
to  be  pouring  out  all  his  heart.  His  great  black 
eyes  were  fixed  on  a  beautiful  painted  window 
opposite.  This  window  had  been  put  in  to  the 
memoiy  of  a  very  good  and  charitable  j'oung 
lady,  whose  early  death  had  been  deeply  mourned 
by  every  one  who  knew  her,  and  it  showed  a 


lovely  figure,  with  angel's  Avings,  and  a  face  of 
pit}',  gently  raising  a  sick  child,  and  looking  at 
him  tenderly. 

Poor  little  Beppo,  alone  and  lonely,  had  crept 
into  the  church,  and  gazing  long  on  the 
beautiful  window  had  presently  thought  the 
kind  face  was  watching  him  with  pity. 

He  was  in  bitter  grief  for  his  dearly-loved 
mother  had  been  trying  to  tell  him  she  would 
soon  go  away  never  to  return.  She  had  suc- 
ceeded only  too  well,  for  the  poor  child,  when 
at  last  he  understood,  brushing  past  land  old 
Roger,  rushed  fronr  the  house  to  the  church 
where  he  could  be  alone.  In  his  own  countrj' 
the  church  is  a  refuge  for  the  sorrowful,  always 
open  for  any  one  who  will  enter,  so  in  this 
strange  land  he  naturally  sought  the  old  gray 
building. 

Poor  little  boy  I  he  was  very  young  and  very 
ignorant,  and  he  had  been  taught  to  ask  for,  and 
to  hope  for,  the  help  of  saints  and  angels.  The 
doctor  coidd  do  little  for  his  mother ;  Roger,  kind 
as  he  was,  could  not  save  her ;  and  poor  little 
Beppo,  wild  with  grief,  and  in  the  midst  of 
strangers  who  could  scarcely  understand  what 
he  said,  threw  himself  before  this  lovely  figure- 
in  the  window,  and  thoiight  that  at  last  he  had 
found  a  friend  to  help  him. 

All  this  Bryda  learned,  but  really  it  wasrather 
difficult.  She  could  not  '  make  up'  Italian  that 
Beppo  would  understand,  in  the  easy  Avay  in 
which  she  and  Maurice  Grey  made  up  Latin  to 
talk  to  each  other  when  they  played  at  Charon's 
boat. 

Then  Beppo's  English  was  very  odd,  and  his- 
story  was  so  often  interrupted  by  sobs,  that 
quite  a  long  time  had  passed  before  the  little 
comforter  was  able  to  make  out  the  youngei- 
child's  trouble,  and  to  understand  that  lie  had 
been  talking  to  the  angel  in  the  beautiful 
window  when  she  found  him. 

Little  Bryda  was  sadly  puzzled.  How  was 
she  to  comfort  Beppo  ?     What  could  she  say  ? 

She  could  not  tell  him  to  hope  his  mother 
would  get  better.  That  the  doctor  said  could 
never  be.  Could  she  conjfort  Bejipo  with  a  lie  ? 
No,  never  I 

She  could  not  say  the  angel  would  do  the 
poor  dying  woman  good.  The  angel  was  very 
beautiful,  but  after  all  she  was  only  made  of  glass 
and  paint. 


140 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


So,  after  looking  sadly  at  Beppo's  tear-stained 
face  and  little  drooping  figure,  all  she  could  say 
was, — 

'  Oh,  Beppo  I  I  am  so  sorry  I ' 

And  with  that  she  threw  her  arms  round  him, 
and  together  the  two  children  cried,  till  Bep2:io's 
sobs  came  more  gently.  This  little  English 
girl  was  sorry  because  he  was  unhappy. 
After  all  he  was  not 
60  lonely  I 

'  Children  I '  said  a 
voice  near  them,  so 
near  that  both  started 
and  looked  up.  Bryda 
sprang  to  her  feet, 
and  held  Beppo  by 
the  hand,  feeling  as 
if  they  were  both 
likely  to  be  scolded 
for  making  the  church 
a  place  to 
cry  in. 

But  there 
was  no  an- 
ger on  the 
loving,  kind 
face  of  the 
old  Vicar, 
who  .stood 
before  them, 
only     great  '"' 

pity  for  whatever  trouble  had  caused  these 
tears.  The  Good  Sheplierd,  liis  Master,  cares 
as  much  for  the  pains  of  His  lambs,  as  for  those 
of  His  most  prized  sheep,  and  His  messenger 


would  give  as  much  care  to  these  two  children 
as  to  the  greatest  people  in  the  land. 

Beckoning  them  to  follow,  he  went  quietly 

down  the  aisle  and   qut  into  the  churchyard ; 

there,  taking  a  hand  of  each,  he  led  them  to  a 

seat  that  was  placed  under  a  spreading  tree 

among  the  graves. 

'  Now  tell  me  all  about  it,'  he  said, 
kindly ;     and    Bryda 
forgot   to  be   shy   as 
she    looked    into    his 
face,  and  soon  told  all 
Beppo's    story,   while 
the  little  boy  looked 
with  wide  black  eyes, 
that  had  no  tears  in 
them   now, 
I   at    his   new 
I  friends,    the 
old     clergy- 
man and  the 
little  girl. 

'  I  see,  I 
see ! '  said 
Mr.  Joyce, 
for  that  was 
the  Vicar's 
name. 
y    'And  now, 

=-^    Beppo,     can 

you     under- 
stand if  I  speak  English  ?  because  then,  if  I  talk 
to  you,  this  young  lady  will  understand  too.' 
Beppo  nodded  his  head. 

{To  be  continued.) 


PATHEB'S  EETURIT. 

FAE  over  the  sea.  When  father  comes  home. 

In  the  morning  light,  Then  that's  the  nice  time ; 

Dear  father  sets  sail  He  tosses  up  baby. 

Away  out  of  sight,  And  sings  off  a  rhyme. 


To  catch  the  bright  fish 
That  dart  through  the  sea, 

And  win  daily  bread 
For  babv  and  me. 


With  oar  on  his  shoulder, 

His  heart  full  of  glee, 
He's  glad  to  come  home 

To  baby  and  me. 

Joanna  McKean. 


TrT^ 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


141 


Father's  Return. 


U2 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


LEAVES  PROM  NOBLE  LIVES. 
JOHN  HOWAED. 


N  the  year  1755  tliere  was  a  ter- 
rible ■upheaval  across  the  middle  of 
the  earth,  affecting  manj'  countries 
near  the  equator.  North  Africa, 
the  West  Indies,  Spain,  and  Por- 
tugal, all  felt  it,  and  the  greater  part  of 
the  city  of  Lisbon  was  in  five  short 
minutes  laid  in  ruins,  and  00,000  of  its 
people  destroyed. 

This  is  laiown  in  history  as  the  Great  Earth- 
<juahe  of  Lisbon.  The  distress  and  misery 
wrought  by  so  terrible  a  calamity  is  hard  to 
imagine,  aud  harder  still  to  describe  ;  but  it  was 
awful,  so  awful  that  a  good  man  who  heard  in 
England  of  the  sufferings  and  privations  of  those 
Avho  escaped,  determined  to  go  to  Lisbon  and  try, 
as  far  as  his  means  would  penuit  him,  to  help 
and  give  relief  and  succour  to  the  afflicted  ones. 

He  was  sufficiently  rich,  for  he  had  inherited 
a  fortune  from  his  father,  a  successful  London 
merchant ;  and  he  was  young,  born  only  twenty- 
nine  years  before,  in  1726.  He  had  no  ties,  as  his 
wife  was  just  dead  after  three  years  of  married  life, 
and  his  heart  was  softened  by  this  affliction  :  he 
longed  to  do  something  for  the  poor  and  homeless. 

(jod  had  other  work  for  him,  however,  and  it 
was  Providence,  not  chance,  that  brought  a 
French  vessel  of  war  into  the  track  of  the  ship 
in  which  he  sailed;  she  was  captured,  and  he 
was  taken  prisoner  and  confined  in  France,  until 
an  exchange  could  be  effected. 

M'hen  he  was  set  free,  he  returned  to  England 
and  retired  to  his  home  near  Bedford,  where, 
three  years  later,  he  married  a  second  wife,  and 
during  seven  happy  years  he  farmed  his  land, 
and  set  himself  earnestly  to  the  task  of  bettering 
tlie  condition  of  his  dependents,  and  caring  for 
the  labourers  and  peasantry  about  him. 

His  heart  was  still  TNitli  the  poor  and  the  dis- 
tressed. Building  model  cottages,  improving  the 
schools,  visiting  and  relieving  the  sick  and  des- 
titute, these  were  the  works  to  which  he  gave  his 
whole  heart  and  soul,  aud  in  %\hich  his  wife  was 
his  best  right  hand. 

It  is  said  of  him,  that  at  the  end  of  one  par- 
ticular year,  having  settled  up  all  his  accounts 
and  drawn  a  balance  sheet,  he  fonnd  he  had  a 
larger  sum  than  usual  at  his  disposal,   and  he 


proposed  to  his  wife  a  treat,  either  a  journey  to 
London,  which  meant  something  in  tliose  days, 
or  any  other  excursion  she  would  like  better. 

She  thanked  him  and  said  quietly,  '  "What  a. 
pretty  cottage  for  a  poor  family  that  money  would 
build  1  '  John  Howard  took  the  hint ;  it  was 
exactly  in  accordance  with  his  wish,  and  the 
money  was  laid  out  as  she  suggested. 

Alas  I  his  happiness  was  too  great  to  last.  His 
wife  died  in  1 765,  and  for  a  time  he  seemed  to  lose 
all  interest  in  his  home  and  plans  and  occupations. 

Then,  by  what  might  seem  an  accident,  he 
was  led  to  what  was  to  be  the  great  work  of 
his  life.  He  became  Sheriff  of  Bedford,  and 
was  brought  in  contact  with  prisons  and  pri- 
soners. He  remembered  his  own  sufferings  in 
the  French  prison,  and  he  set  about  visiting  the 
jails  of  England,  where  he  was  shocked  at  the 
misery  and  degradation  he  found.  The  further 
he  went,  and  the  more  he  saw  of  the  condition  of 
prisons  and  prisoners,  the  more  did  he  determine 
to  work,  God  helping  him,  to  remedy  the  evil. 

He  laid  his  statements  before  the  House  of 
Commons.  His  energy  and  the  justice  of  his  cause 
were  successful  in  part,  and  something  was  done 
m  two  Acts  of  Parliament  that  were  passed  at 
once  ;  yet  he  was  not  satisfied,  and  the  history 
of  the  remainder  of  his  life  is  little  more  than  a. 
diary  of  his  journej'S,  not  only  in  England,  but 
through  foreign  countries,  gathering  information 
the  most  valuahle,  relieving  at  his  own  cost  the- 
wants  of  the  wretched  objects  of  his  care,  and 
visiting  the  most  noisome  places. 

Danger  never  turned  him  from  his  path ;  he- 
travelled  through  the  whole  of  Europe,  north, 
east,  south,  and  west,  and  no  circumstances  ever- 
daunted  him  where  the  truth  was  to  be  asserted  or 
help  could  be  afforded  to  his  suffering  fellow  men. 

Once  at  Vienna,  dining  at  the  table  of  the 
British  Ambassador  to  the  Austrian  Court,  the 
conversation  turned  on  the  torture,  when  a  German 
nobleman  observed  that  the  glory  of  putting  im 
end  to  it  in  those  dominions  belonged  to  his  own 
emperor. 

'  Pardon  me,'  said  the  Englishmen  ;  '  his  Im- 
perial Majesty  has  only  abolished  one  species  of 
torture  to  establish  in  its  place  another  still  more 
cruel ;  for  the  torture  which  ho  ends  lasted  at  the 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


143 


most  but  a  few  Lours,  but  that  wbicli  lie  has 
begun  lasts  many  weeks,  nay,  sometimes  years. 
The  poor  wretches  are  thrown  into  a  noisome 
■dungeon,  worse  than  the  Black  Hole  at  Calcutta, 
from  which  they  are  only  released  if  they  confess 
•what  is  laid  to  their  charge.' 

'  Hush,'  said  the  British  Ambassador ;  '  your 
■words  will  be  reported  to  bis  majesty.' 

'What  I'  replied  John  Howard,  'shall  my 
tongue  be  tied  from  speaking  truth  by  any  king 
or  emperor  in  the  world  ?  I  rejDeat  what  I 
■asserted,  and  maintain  it  is  perfectly  true.' 

He  was  just  as  fearless,  too,  in  reproving  vice. 

On  one  occasion  be  wa§  standing  near  the 
door  of  a  printing-ofQce,  when  be  heard  dreadful 
•oaths  and  curses  from  a  public-bouse  opposite. 
Buttoning  bis  pocket  before  be  went  into  the 
street,  be  said  to  the  workmen  near  him,  '  I 
always  do  so  when  I  bear  men  swear,  for  I 
think  that  any  one  who  takes  God's  name  in  vain 
can  steal  or  do  anj'thing  else  that  is  bad.' 

Thus  acting,  thus  bving,  the  end  came  and 
found  him  in  harness.  He  was  going  through 
Turkey  and  Eussia,  on  hospital  service,  when 
in  doing  a  kindness  to  a  fever  jiatient  he  fell 
ill  of  the  disease,  and  died  January  20,  1790, 
regretted,  respected,  and  mourned  by  every  nation 
in  Europe. 

His  monument,  carved  in  marble,  stands  in  the 
Engbsb  Cathedral  of  St.  Paul.  His  life  has  left 
its  monument  in  every  nation  ;  he  will  be  known 
to  the  end  as  John  Howard  the  Philanthropist, 
the  friend  of  the  prisoner. 


DOCILITY   AND    PATIElfCE. 

]\IONG  the  most  valuable  animals 
to  man  are  those  wbicb  at  first 
may  seem  to  be  wanting  in  in- 
telligence and  sprightly  vigour. 
We  are  apt  to  speak  of  tbe 
noble  lion,  and  call  bim  the 
king  of  beasts;  we  admire  tbe 
strength,  the  beauty,  and  the 
endurance  of  the  liorse,  and 
delight  in  the  tales  which  tell 
us  of  the  love  of  tbe  Arab  for  his  steed. 

What  the  horse  is  to  tbe  Arab,  that  the  cow 
is  to  the  hardy  mountaineer  of  Europe — liis 
companion,  bis  pet,  a  member  of  bis  family,  a 


friend.  He  never  ill-treats  bis  cattle,  either 
with  stick  or  goad;  the  tones  of  his  voice  are  suf- 
ficient to  guide  and  govern  tbe  herd,  even  when 
many  in  number. 

So  in  tbe  Alpine  valleys,  the  Swiss  peasant  is 
not  content  with  having  a  fine,  well-bred,  happy 
animal,  but  be  must  add  to  this  natural  beauty, 
and  dress  bis  cows,  with  bells  suspended  from 
leather  thongs,  which  are  neatly  picked  out 
and  embroidered  by  loving  bands  as  ornaments 
for  the  favourites  ;  and  they  are  often  costl}'. 

The  peasant's  own  dress — his  best,  perhaps — 
would  be  worth  in  all  twenty  guilders ;  that  of 
the  cow  with  a  ring  of  bells  on  its  neck,  two 
hundred  and  fifty. 

These  ornaments  are  only  worn  on  solemn 
occasions,  such  as  when  they  are  led  to  another 
pasture  in  tbe  spring  ;  or  when  in  winter  they 
travel  to  the  different  farms,  where  their  owners 
have  procured  them  bay  and  fodder. 

Then  the  cow-herd  turns  out  dressed  in  a 
fine  white  shirt,  his  sleeves  rolled  up  above  tbe 
elbow,  pretty  braces  across  bis  shoulders,  a  little 
leather  cap  on  bis  bead  ;  and  a  new  carved  milk- 
bowl  completes  bis  equipment.  Singing  gaily 
his  song,  the  '  Ranz  des  Vaches,'  be  beads  the 
procession,  with  three  or  four  goats ;  then  comes 
the  pride  of  bis  herd,  bis  handsomest  cow  with 
the  great  bell ;  then  two  others  with  smaller 
bells ;  then  the  rest  one  after  another,  having  at 
the  rear  a  bull  ^^'itb  a  three-legged  milking-stool 
banging" on  bis  horns ;  last  of  all  comes  a  sledge, 
on  which  are  packed  all  the  dairy  implements. 

No  wonder  that  animals  treated  ldndly,-and 
loved  in  this  way,  should  be  docile ;  a  very 
picture  of  j^atient  contentment 

In  every  pastoral  country  cattle  are  indeed 
most  valuable;  we  have  seen  what  they  are  to 
the  hardy  Swiss  farmer. 

In  other  countries  as  well  as  Switzerland  they 
are  used  to  draw  the  cart  or  tbe  plough — adding 
beauty  to  the  landscape.  While  living  they 
yield  rich  milk  and  cheese ;  and  at  last,  when 
killed  for  food,  their  value  is  enhanced  by  tbe 
variety  of  uses  to  which  they  can  be  put.  The 
borns  are  turned  into  bandies,  combs,  and  other 
useful  things  ;  the  parings  of  tbe  bides  produce 
glue  ;  tbe  skins  are  made  into  leather ;  their  fat 
into  candles.  Strength,  patience,  utility,  these 
are  their  characteristics,  and  are  enhanced  in 
value  by  one  quabty  all  may  learn— Obedience. 


lU 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


A  Picture  of  Patience  and  Docility. 


SuNDA  V  Reading  for  the  Young. 


145 


Sulei's  First  Introduction. 


14S 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


OXTK   DUMB   TEACHERS. 

.__   __  FAITHFUL  IN  SMALL  AND  GREAT. 

EAES  have  gone  \>y  since  the 
clay  -when  lie  came  to  ns  in  a 
little  tiny  tiny  hamper  ;  and  we 
all  thought  him  such  a  funny 
little  ohject — just  large  enough 
to  fill  the  palm  of  a  h.--J — as 
he  turned  his  great  c^ss  from 
side  to  side  in  a  strango  ?iome. 
Yes  ;  he  missed  his  playmates — his  brothers 
and  sisters,  and,  above  all,  his  mother,  »:i.d  the 
games  that  they  played  in  the  straw  v.'i;  '••x  not 
cuddled  down  to  sleep.  And  no  wonde  ,  for  he 
was  only  a  little  puppy,  and  it  was  his  first 
journey  out  into  the  world  since  he  was  born. 

Never  mind,  we  must  be  good  to  him,  and 
make  liim  love  us  all. 

'  And  then,  who  Icnows,'  said  a  child,  '  who 
knows  but  when  he's  grown  to  a  big  dog  he'll 
save  us  -from  robbers,  and  prevent  the  house 
teing  broken  into  ? ' 

'  Or  perhaps  from  drowning  ?'  added  another; 
for  we  then  lived  at  the  seaside,  within  the 
sound  of  the  waves  as  they  rolled  on  the  shingly 
beach. 

.Years  have  gone  by  since  then,  when  there 
■was  a  general  half-holiday  given  for  the  naming 
of  the  dog,  and  after  mTich  thought,  and  more 
talk  in  the  children's  parliament,  he  was  called 
'  Suleiman  the  Magnificent,'  and  dressed  and  un- 
dressed in  all  the  finest  doU-cloilies  that  could  be 
found,  until  his  little  bones  must  have  ached  I 
am  sure. 

They  were  children  then  ;  now  all  are  grown 
up.  He  was  a  puppy,  a  wee  little  helpless 
thing ;  now  an  old  dog,  getting  qiiite  gray  in 
the  muzzle,  stately  and  sedate,  and  big  enough 
to  frighten  all  strangers  away.  And,  oh  1  how 
faithful  and  true  1 

^Yhat  honest  payment  he  has  given  for  all  the 
love  and  care  lavished  upon  him  ! — not  one  day 
of  separation  from  us  in  all  those  years.  And 
never  once  has  he  shown  temper,  or  sulked,  or 
done  anything  but  love  us  all,  and  watch  for  us, 
night  and  day. 

Can  we  ever  repay  the  dear  old  dog  for  his 
fidelity  and  devotion '? 

He  was  only  a  puppy,  when,  on  the  Cambridge 
railway -platform  with  cue  of  the  boys,  a  gentle- 


man offered  twenty  pounds  for  him;  many  times 
since  then  money  has  been  offered,  but  were  he 
ten  times  as  ugly  as  he  is  handsome,  I  do  not 
think  any  of  us  could  part  with  him  for  gold;  he- 
is  one  of  the  family,  and  in  it  he  must  live  to  the- 
end.  He  is  true  to  those  beautiful  instincts 
planted  in  his  nature  by  the  loving  Creator  of 
all,  and  a  pattern  of  affection  and  devotion,  even 
for  a  dog. 

How  can  we  ever  have  unkind  thoughts  for 
the  dear  dumb  creatures  who  minister  so  mucb 
to  our  comfort  and  happiness  1  how  can  we  bear 
to  beat  a  cat  or  dog,  or  cruelly  treat  a  pony  or 
donkey  I  They  cannot  retaliate,  nor  can  they 
speak,  except  by  their  reproachful  eyes,  to  tell 
us  how  cowardly  it  is  to  be  cruel  to  those  dumb 
creatures  that  are  in  our  power  for  good  or  ill. 

H. 


GOD'S    ETERNITY. 

PUPIL  in  the  Institution  for  the 
Deaf  and  Dumb  at  Paris  was- 
asked  to  express  his  idea  of  the- 
Eternity  of  God.  Thinking  for  a 
moment,  he  wrote  on  the  slate : — 
•  It  is  Duration  without  beginning  or 
It  is  Existence  without  bound  or 
dimension.  It  is  Present  without  Past 
or  Future.  It  is  Youth  without  infancy 
or  old  age.  It  is  Life  without  birth  or  deaths 
It  is  To-day  without  yesterday  or  to-morrow.' 

Another  child,  in  the  same  home,  on  being 
asked  the  question,  '  Docs  God  reason  ? '  wrote, 
'  God  knows  and  sees  everything.  Reasoning 
implies  doubt  and  uncertainty,  therefore  God 
does  not  reason.' 


NO    BEGGARS    ALLOWED. 

A  GRECIAN  Genera],  Pisistratus  by  name, 
when  walking  through  some  of  his  fields, 
was  accosted  by  several  persons  who  begged  his 
charity — even  the  smallest  coin. 

'  No  ! '  said  he  ;  '  if  you  want  beasts  to  plough 
your  land,  I  will  lend  you  some  ;  if  you  want 
land,  I  will  give  you  some  ;  if  you  want  seed  to- 
sow  your  land,  I  will  give  it  you  ;  but  I  will 
encourage  none  in  idleness.' 

In  a  yery  short  time  there  were  no  beggars- 
to  be  found. 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


147 


MEMORIES. 


^XLY  a  OTrl  of  golden  liair 
And  tattered  ball 
Lying  together,  long  forgotten  ; 
And  that  was  all. 

Only  a  faded  flower -bud 

And  fern-leaf  small — 
Scentless,  withered,  dead,  forsa!;en; 

And  that  was  all. 


Only  a  well-loved  name  or  two. 

Scratched  on  the  wall 
By  little  liands,  so  long  ago ; 

And  that  was  all. 

Only  those  scorning  worthless  things, 

So  very  small ; 
Bnt,  oh  1  what  heart  throbs  do  they  bring 

Unto  us  all  I 

Joanna  McKean. 


MIXED     PICKLES. 

{Continued  from pa/je  HO.) 


ME.  JOYCE  went  on :  '  There  was  once 
a  little  boy,  no  matter  how  long  ago, 
^yllose  little  sister  was  very  ill — so  ill  that 
the  doctor  said  there  was  no  hope  that  she 
■could  live  many  days.  Now  in  the  country 
where  these  children  lived  it  was  always  believed 
that  if  any  mortal  could  get  one  leaf  from  the 
Tree  of  Life,  that  grew  in  the  garden  of  God, 
•every  illness  would  be  cured  at  once.  Bnt  no 
one  had  ever  tried  to  get  this  leaf,  because  the 
journey  was  steep  and  rough  to  the  gates  of  the 
garden,  and  because  an  Angel  stood  there  to  keep 
ithe  gate  and  would  let  no  one  pass.  Bnt  this 
little  boy  loved  his  sister  so  well — as  well  I  think 
^as  Bepi3o  loves  his  mother.' 

Beppo's  dark  eyes  fiUed  with  tears  again,  and 
■tbe  Vicar  laid  a  hand  gently  on  his  shoulder. 

'  So  well  that  he  could  not  have  loved  her  more 
if  lie  had  tried  \A-ith  all  his  might.  And,  when 
all  other  hope  seemed  gone,  he  said,  "  I  will  go,  I 
•vs'ill  beg  of  the  Angel  at  the  gate  to  let  me  in  for 
•one  moment,  or  to  give  me  a  leaf,  only  one  leaf, 
from  the  Tree." 

'  So  lie  went  by  the  long,  rough  way,  till  in  the 
■golden  sunset  'he  stood  before  that  great  Angel, 
and  trembling  made  his  request. 

' "  jS'one  can  enter  this  garden  but  those  children 
of  the  King  for  whom  He  has  sent,  that  they  may 
be  with  Him.  I  can  let  no  other  enter,"  answered 
the  Angel. 

'  "  But  one  leaf,"  prayed  the  child,  "  one  little 
'leaf  to  cure  my  sister.  The  King  will  not  be 
angry!" 

'  And  as  he  spoke  he  could  hear,  though  he 
-could  not  see  into  the  garden,  the  Tree  rustling 
.gently,  and  the  birds  among  the  branches, 
■warbling  the  praises  of  the  King  of  Glory. 


'  Only  one  leaf,  and  there  were  so  many  on  the 
tree  1  "  The  King,  the  loving  Father,  cannot 
wish  that  my  jjoor  little  sister  should  have  to 
suffer  so,  and  then  die  and  leave  me  all  alone '. 
Have  pit}^  upon  me,  great  Angel,  it  is  such  a 
little  thing  I  ask !  "  entreated  the  child. 

'  But  the  Angel  looked  down  upon  him  with 
deep  love  and  pity  in  his  eyes. 

'"  The  King  has  sent  my  brother,  the  Angel  of 
Death,  to  bring  j'our  sister  to  Him.  She  shall 
dwell  for  ever  in  the  light  of  His  smile.  If  you 
are  allowed  to  keep  her,  will  yon  promise  me  to 
take  care  that  she  shall  never  again  lie  tossing  on 
a  sick  bed  V  " 

' ''How  can  I?"'  said  the  child,  wondering. 
"  Not  even  tlie  wisest  physicians  can  always  heal 
diseases  at  once.' 

"■  Then  will  yon  promise  that  she  shall  never  be 
unhappy  ?  never  do  wrong,  and  suffer  shame  and 
sorrow?  never  be  cold,  hungry,  tired?  thnt.no 
one  shall  speak  to  her  harshly  ? "  asked  the 
Angel. 

'"  Not  if  I  can  help  it,"  answered  the  child. 
"  But  perhaps  I  could  not  always  make  her  hapjay, 
even  when  I  am  grown  np." 

'  "  Then  the  world  where  you  want  to  Icecp 
her  is  rather  a  sad  ].ilac3,"  the  Angel  said  gently. 
"  Now  I  will  open  the  gate  a  little,  and  you  shall 
look  in  for  a  moment,  and  if  you  still  wish  it,  my 
child,  I  will  ask  myself  that  yon  may  have  a  leaf 
from  the  Tree  of  Life,  that  j'our  sister  may  stay 
upon  earth  with  you." 

'  So  the  Angel  who  kept  tlie  golden  gate  opened 
it  a  very  little  way,  and  as  the  might}'  door  rolled 
back  for  a  moment,  the  child  could  see  into  the 
Land  Avhore  by  the  river  stands  the  Tree  of  Life, 
and  where  those  who   are  counted  worthy  walk 


148 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


for  ever  in  white — where  they  need  no  can  lie, 
neither  hght  of  the  snn,  because  the  smile  cf  G  )il 
is  the  light  of  that  wonderful  place,  and  Hs 
servants  shall  serve  Him,  and  no  tongue  can  tell 
the  happiness  tliat  is  theirs  for  ever  and  ever.' 

'  Did  the  little  boy  see  right  into  Heaven  'i ' 
asked  Bryda,  iu  a  low  tone.  '  Oh,  do  tell  us  what 
he  saw  I ' 

'  I  cannot  tell  you  what  he  saw,'  answered  the 
Vicar ;  '  you  and  I,  little  Bryd  i,  have  to  wait  a 
while,        .0        it  may  be   for  nie  a  very  little 


bed  at  home  lay  her  body,  white  and  still,  but 
he  knew  that  it  was  only  t'.ie  dress  she  had  worn 
in  the  world.     And  the  child  was  comforted.' 

And  Beppo  was  comforted  too.  As  the  Vicar 
spoke,  he  imagined  a  country  more  beautiful 
than  his  own  Italy,  where  golden  oranges  hang 
in  the  dark  green  leaves,  and  the  wonderful  blue 
sea  sleeps  un  ler  the  blue  sky,  but  where  people 
are  tick  and  sorrowful  as  they  are  everywhere  in 
the  world.  His  dear  mother  would  go  to  that 
wonderful  pi  ice,  so  beautiful  that  even  this  wise 


while,  trusting  that  the  Father  will  in  His 
mercy,  for  His  Son's  sake,  give  us  a  place  there. 
But  this  I  will  tell  you,  that  the  child  turned 
towards  the  beaiitifnl  Angel  with  eyes  full  of 
wonder  and  sur]iri8e. 

'"I  will  not  ask  it  now,"  he  said  ;  "I  think 
there  is  no  friend  so  Icind  as  tlie  Angel  of  Death, 
who  seems  to  us  so  dreadful.  Oh,  I  wish  he  would 
take  me,  too  I "     And  the  Angel  answered, — 

' "  When  all  the  less(jns  which  the  Father 
desires  you  to  learn  in  His  school,  which  is  called 
the  Earth,  are  learnt ;  when  the  little  piece  of  His 
great  work  that  is  meant  for  your  hands  is 
finished,  then  the  Angel  will  come  for  you  too,  my 
child,  if  only  you  are  faithful." 

'  And  the  child  turned  away  and  went  back 
under  the  stars,  that  were  like  eyes  of  angels 
watching  him,  back  from  the  golden  gates  to 
his  home  in  the  world.  And  as  he  went  a  golden 
ray  shot  once  across  his  path,  and  brought  a 
sound  of  wonderful  music,  such  as  he  had  never 
heard.  And  he  knew  that  the  golden  gates  had 
opened,  and  his  sister  had  pnsscd  in.     On  a  little 


gentleman  could  not  tell  him  exactly  what  it 
was  like.  She  would  never  cough,  nor  be  tired 
nor  hungry  again  I 

But  the  bells  began  to  ring  for  service. 

'  Come,  Beppo,  I  will  take  you  home,'  said  Mr. 
Joyce  ;  and  Bryda  said  good-bye  to  both,  and 
went  slowly  home  along  the  shrubbery  path. 

This  has  been  a  sad  chapter;  but  you  see  there 
are  sad  parts  even  in  the  lives  of  children,  and  if 
Bryda  was  not  in  quite  such  wild  spirits  as, 
usual,  she  certainly  did  not  feel  unhappy  that 
evening,  when  sitting  by  Cousin  Salome's  couch 
she  told  her  all  that  had  happened. 

'  Don't  you  think,'  said  kind  Salome,  '  that  if 
you  were  to  bring  Beppo  here  in  the  afternoon, 
Bryda,  you  and  I  could  teach  him  a  little  about 
a  better  Friend  than  his  angel  in  the  window, 
a  Friend  Who  can  and  will  help  him  and  Who 
will  never  die  and  leave  him,  never  change  and 
forget  him  ? ' 

And  Bryda  very  gladly  promised  to  bring 
Beppo  next  day. 

{To  he  continued.) 


Sunday Readjnc  for  the  Young. 


149> 


urus. 


TAURUS. 


r  I  THE  month  of  April  wa3  anciently  pictured  as  a 

a  ga 
^L^y      In  one  hand  he  had  primroses  and  violets 
ii-^J       the  bull,  or  celestial  sign  Taurus,  which  1 


C  L!'  I     _L     yonng  man  clothed  in  green,  and  crowned  with 
\^'^  I    a  garland  of  hawthorn  buds,   intermixed  with  myrtle. 

in  the  other 

the  sun  enters 

on  the  19th  of  the  month. 

The  Anglo-Saxons  called  April  Easter  month. 
And  as  March  is  esteemed  most  propitious  when  dry, 
so  April  is  most  fertile  when  wet,  and  hence  the  old 
adage, — 

'  March  winds  and  April  showers 
Bring  forth  May  flowers.' 

Under  the  genial  showers  of  April,  and  the  sun's 
increasing  warmth,  the  buds  begin  to  unfold  and  burst, 
and  all  nature  seems  to  wake  up  to  new  life. 


150 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


ONLY   A    HALFPElfNY! 
(Continued  from  page  138.) 

UST  as  the  sailor  -  lad  wna 
becoming  impatient,  the  Gos- 
port  steamer,  which  no  one 
appeared  to  have  noticed, 
came  in  s\Yiftly  and  almost 
silently,  and  so  cleverly  was 
she  nm  alongside,  and  the 
gangways  put  down,  that 
almost  before  they  had  found 
out  that  he  was  on  board 
Mr.  jMassey  was  on  the  pier, 
greeting  his  wife  and  children. 
'  I  have  been  looking  out  all  the  morning 
Jn  the  other  direction,'  said  Arthur.  '  We 
thought  you'd  come  in  the  Gazelle — see,  she's 
there,'  and  he  pointed  to  the  yacht  that  lay, 
with  sails  flapping,  where  he  had  watched 
■eagerly  before. 

'  I  thought  the  steamer  quicker,  my  boy,  and 
I  knew  you  would  all  like  to  go  out  sailing  so 
;iine  a  day,  so  I  hastened  on,  and  the  Gazelle 
will  stand  in  for  ns  at  once.  Now  let  us  get 
liome  for  a  few  minutes,  for  I  have  a  surprise 
for  you  all.' 

They  walked  into  the  town,  to  the  house  that 
Mr.  Massey  had  take  i  for  the  yachting  season  ; 
the  children  Avere  delighted  at  their  father's  re- 
turn go  soon. 

He  had  received  a  letter  only  the  day  before 
from  our  friend,  the  curate  of  St.  Mark's,  whom 
he  was  always  ready  to  help  with  counsel  and 
money  in  all  good  works,  and  in  whose  parish 
he  himself  lived  when  in  London. 

You  can  guess  what  the  clergyman  wanted 
with  Mr.  Massey  :  it  was  about  poor  Sam  and 
his  future. 

The  two  gentlemen  met,  and  from  the  curate 
the  banker  heard  the  story  of  the  crossing- 
sweeping  lad. 

'  Now  what  is  to  be  done  with  him  ?  is  the 
main  question,'  said  the  first.  '  We  can  clothe 
him,  and  bring  him  to  the  school ;  but  we  can- 
5iot  keep  him  from  evil  influences,  unless  we  get 
him  employment  and  a  home  ;  and  who  will  take 
a  lad  from  the  streets  ?' 
'  I  will ! '  said  the  banker. 
'  You  '?  No  I  no  1  Your  servants  would  not 
have  him  among  them ;  and  the  temptations  in 


such  a  sudden  lifting  up  would  be  too  much  for 
the  poor  lad.  No  1  iio  1  we  must  think  of  some- 
thing else  than  that.' 

'  I  have  thought  of  it,'  replied  the  elder  man, 
'  while  you  have  been  talking.  This  is  my 
plan  :  You  procure  him  some  clothes,  and  get 
your  good  housekeeper,  IMrs.  Brownlow,  to  act 
the  part  of  a  mother  to  hira  for  one  night.  Give 
him  a  bed  somewhere.  To-morrow  I  can  take 
him  with  me,  and  place  him  on  the  Gazelle, 
where  he  can  do  little  wrong,  if  he  is  vicious ; 
and  my  own  men  will  look  after  him,  and  keep 
him  straight,  if  he's  right.  And  if  he  is  the  lad 
j'ou  take  him  to  be,  your  halfpenny  will  have 
been  the  saving  of  him.' 

'  And  your  own  good  heart,'  added  the  clergy- 
man aloud;  and  then,  to  himself,  '  Ah  !  if  only 
more  of  our  rich  men  would  carry  out  the 
Master's  wishes  as  literally  and  truly  as  this 
one  1' 

'  Well,  good-bye  till  seven  this  evening.'  And 
they  parted. 

Sam  looked  round  the  curate's  little  sitting- 
room  with  astonishment  when  the  housekeeper 
showed  him  in.  There  was  no  one  in  the  room, 
so  he  was  at  liberty  to  feast  his  eyes  on  the 
beautiful  books  in  shelves  against  the  \yall,  the 
splendid  chairs  Avith  leather  seats,  and  handsome 
carpet,  such  as  he  had  only  seen  in  shop- 
windows. 

Tlie  truth  was,  the  room  was  plainly  but 
well  furnished;  but  to  poor  Sam,  the  comfort 
he  saw  was  magnificence,  it  was  a  palace  to 
him. 

He  felt  that  he  must  not  sit  down,  it  was 
almost  too  bad  to  stand  on  that  beautiful  carpet 
with  his  bare  feet.  And  while  he  was  thus 
thinking,  the  outer  door  opened  and  admitted 
the  two  gentlemen,  whose  intentions  with 
regard  to  Sam  have  already  been  told. 

Mr.  JMassey  seated  himself  in  an  arm-chair 
and  listened,  \vhile  the  clergyman  drew  out  from 
Sam  all  his  story — all  that  he  knew  about 
himself. 

The  banker  was  taking  the  lad's  measure, 
and  his  eye  dwelt  with  evident  satisfaction  on 
the  frank  and  earnest  face,  as  he  gave  short,  but 
straightforward  answers  to  the  questions  put. 

Sam  was  on  his  trial;  how  would  he  come 
out  of  it? 

[To  be  continued.) 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


155 


THE    THEEE    LITTLE    PIGS. 

ALONGr  time  ago,  at  a  period  so  remote 
tliat  110  one  knows  %oken,  in  a  country  far 
away,  on  the  borders  of  a  forest,  where  the  only 
dwelling  was  a  woodcutter's  cottage,  there  lived 
an  old  mother  pig  and  her  three  little  ones. 

They  had  made  themselves  a  comfortable 
dwelling  in  the  hollow  trunk  of  a  great  chestnut- 
tree,  and  if  ever  pigs  had  a  merry,  pleasant  life, 
these  had,  for  the  woodcutter  was  always  at 
work,  and  his  old  wife  never  ventured  into  the 
dark  wood  that  lay  beyond  and  all  around  their 
cottage. 

The  forest  supplied  the  roots  and  vegetables 
upon  which  they  fed,  for,  unlike  the  animals  in 
farmyards,  wild  pigs  are  not  only  cleanly  in 
their  habits,  but  they  would  refuse  to  eat  the 
coarse  food  their  domesticated  brethren  devour 
so  greedily. 

During  the  autumn  their  own  chestnut -tree 
supplied  the  most  luxurious  meals,  for  whenever 
a  breeze  rustled  through  the  branches  down 
came  showers  of  big  nuts,  so  ripe  that  as  they 
touched  the  ground  the  husks  burst  open,  and 
out  rolled  the  crisp,  sweet  brown  fruit.  Could 
little  pigs  wish  for  more  tempting  delicacies  V 

The  hole  they  inhabited,  thickly  spread  with 
fems  and  leaves,  made  a  warm  and  secure 
dwelling,  especially  as  the  entrance  was  so 
small,  that  should  an  unwelcome  visitor,  a  bear, 
a  wolf,  or  a  fox,  approach  too  near,  the  old 
Diother  would  put  her  head  out  of  the  hole,  and 
opening  wide  her  enormous  mouth,  would  gnasli 
the  enormous  tusks  it  contained,  and  give  so 
fierce  a  grunt,  that  the  intruder  would  take 
liimself  off  quicker  than  he  had  come. 

These  three  happy  little  pigs  were  quite 
pictures  of  pigs — so  fat,  so  round,  and  so  pink. 

The  eldest  was  the  fattest  and  the  pinkest  of 
the  three.  He  was  so  round  and  smooth  that  it 
was  difficult  to  tell  where  his  body  ended  and 
Lis  head  began.  He  was  like  a  tightly  stuffed 
pincushion,  with  a  little  nose,  a  little  tail,  and 
four  little  legs.  As  for  his  eyes,  they  were  so 
small  they  could  scarcely  be  seen  at  all.  One 
felt  he  ought  to  be  called  '  Dumpy,'  and  dumpy 
lie  was.  Perhaps  on  account  of  being  so  fat,  he 
was  rather  lazy,  and  liked  nothing  better  than 
to  lie  in  the  sun,  and  let  the  chestnuts  tumble 
almost  into  his  mouth. 


The  second  had  longer  legs,  a  longer  tail,  and 
a  much  longer  nose.  Quite  an  inquisitive  nose, 
that  poked  itself  into  every  hole  and  corner  ill 
came  near.  The  sharp  little  eyes  were  always  oa 
the  watch  for  something  for  the  nose  to  do  ;  and 
such  restless  thoughts  were  for  ever  chasing  each 
other  through  little  Peaky-Nose's  brain,  that 
unless  he  had  eaten  as  energetically  as  he  ran,  he 
would  speedily  have  become  a  mere  skeleton  of 
a  pig.  No  sooner  did  he  arrive  in  one  place,, 
than  behold  I  in  a  twinkling  he  was  off  again  to 
.  another.  The  old  mother  felt  sometimes  quite- 
tired  with  the  energy  of  her  second  son. 

Sometimes,  it  is  true,  he  might  be  seen  deeply- 
engaged  digging  away  at  some  root,  but  such, 
sober  moods  rarely  lasted  more  than  a  few 
seconds.  Some  new  thought  would  enter  the 
active  little  brain,  and  then  away  he  would  go- 
with  headlong  speed,  as  if  his  very  life  depended 
upon  his  reaching  some  distant  spot  -ftdthin  a» 
given  time. 

Half  way  there  another  idea  would  probably 
occur  to  hini,  and  back  he  would  come,  in 
greater  hurry,  if  possible,  than  he  went,  the 
little  legs  galloping  so  fast  they  could  scarcely 
be  seen,  and  the  little  tail  swinging  lilte  a, 
pendulum  out  of  time. 

It  may  safely  be  said,  there  was  not  a  hole  im 
the  neighbourhood  that  the  inquisitive  nose  had; 
not  visited. 

Like  most  curious  persons.  Peaky -Nose- 
thought  himself  wiser  than  anybody  else,  and 
would  often  remonstrate  with  his  mother  about" 
what  he  considered  her  troublesome  care  in, 
obliging  them  to  go  home  before  nightfall. 

'  I  very  much  doubt,'  said  he,  '  whether  bears,. 
wolves,  and  foxes,  are  really  dangerous  animals.. 
Were  we  friendly  to  them,'  continued  the  con- 
ceited little  fellow,  '  it  is  by  no  means  improbable- 
that  we  should  find  them  pleasant  neighbours- 
enough.  They  are  aware  that  we  susjiect  them, 
and  of  course,  therefore,  they  resent  our  reserved 
and  haughty  manners.  I  cannot  but  think  our 
dear  mother  allows  herself  to  feel  needless  alarm.' 

'  Well,  my  dear  child,'  returned  the  old  pig,. 
'  so  long  as  I  am  with  you,  I  consider  it  my 
duty  to  take  care  of  you.  When  I  am  gone, 
and  I  foresee  that  time  is  not  far  distant,. 
you  will  then  have  to  look  after  yourselves,  and 
can  do  as  you  like.' 

(To  6e  continued.) 


152 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


At  tl:e  eclse  of  the  Forest. 


SuNDA  Y  Reading  for  the  Young. 


153 


"  She  was  just  in  -time." 

X 


154 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


THE   THREE   LITTLE  PIGS. 

(Continued  from  page  151.) 

FEW  nights  after,  Pealcy-Nose 
liaving  obstinately  lingered  in 
the  forest  as  late  as  jiossible, 
vras  preparing  to  trot  off  to  the 
tree,  ^\'hen  a  cunning  old  fox,  -u-ho 
had  heen  watching  him  for  some 
time  with  hmrgry  eyes,  and  who 
only  waited  for  the  darkness  to 
seize  his  prey,  made  a  siidden  dart 
at  poor  piggy.  Pealcy-Nose  was,  however,  too 
quick  for  him,  and  scampered  off  towards  the 
hole  as  fast  as  his  legs  could  carry  him. 

His  shrill  cries  alarmed  the  old  pig.  She 
darted  out,  made  a  furious  onslaught  on  the 
enemy,  and  was  just  in  time  to  save  her  foolish 
little  son  from  being  devoured. 

Peaky-Nose,  however,  did  not  altogether 
escape,  for,  quick  as  he  was,  the  fox  caught  hold 
of  the  flourishing  little  tail,  just  as  it  was  about 
to  disappear  into  the  hole,  and  bit  off  a  piece 
of  it,  so  there,  was  poor  Peaky-Nose  with  a 
great  increase  of  wisdom,  but  with  a  sad  decrease 
of  tail.  Need  it  be  said,  that  the  loss  of  such  an 
ornament  was  not  only  a  trial  to  his  feelings  but 
also  a  severe  blow  to  his  pride  ? 

To  those  who  understand  pigs,  the  youngest 
of  the  family,  Curly-Tail  by  name,  was  quite  a 
fascinating  creature. 

He  had  little  gray  eyes  that  twinkled  good- 
naturedly,  a  little  nose  that  rather  turned  up, 
and  as  for  his  little  tail,  it  curled  so  tightly  that 
you  woiild  have  thought  one  twist  more  and 
Curly-Tail's  hind  legs  would  be  up  in  the  air. 

The  summer  and  autumn  of  the  year  to  which 
our  story  belongs  were  imusually  sultry.  Rain 
had  not  fallen  fur  weeks,  and  the  ground  became 
scorched  and  cracked  from  the  bm'ning  heat  of 
the  sun.  Even  the  dew  that  ^"isited  them  at 
niglit  could  not  give  sufficient  moisture  to  the 
little  flowers.  One  by  one  they  faded  and  died, 
and  even  the  leaves  of  the  great  trees  hung 
drooping  from  their  branches. 

Dumpy  thought  the  weather  very  jileasant, 
the  heat  made  him  sleepy,  so  he  half-buried 
himself  amongst  the  fallen  leaves,  and  ate  all  the 
chestnuts  that  dropped  within  his  reach.  Every 
day  he  became  fatter  and  more  sleepy. 

Peaky-Nose  discovered  a  small  stream  whoso 


waters  kej)t  him  tolerably  cool,  so  he  passed  his 
time  in  exploring  its  banks,  thrusting  that  in- 
quisitive nose  of  his  into  every  hole  he  could 
find.  One  day  he  put  it  into  a  rat's  nest,  and 
the  rat  being  at  home,  and  naturally  feeling  in- 
dignant at  such  an  intrusion,  gave  poor  Peaky 
so  sharp  a  bite  that  he  had  to  run  home  in  a 
hurrj',  and  did  not  forget  the  pain  for  many 
days. 

However,  even  this  second  misfortune  did  not 
cure  his  curiosity  nor  check  his  desire  to  inquire 
into  his  neighbour's  affairs.  So  besides  the  loss 
of  half  his  tail,  and  having  his  nose  bitten  by  the- 
rat,  he  got  pecked  by  jackdaws  and  crows, 
scratched  by  cats,  and  once  nearly  lost  a  foot  by 
putting  it  into  a  trap  that  had  been  set  for  a. 
badger. 

You  could  always  tell  where  Peaky-Nose  had, 
been,  from  his  habit  of  tearing  at  the  ground  and 
uprooting  plants  to  see  what  was  underneath 
them. 

Though  Curly-Tail  was  very  small  he  had  a. 
great  deal  of  wisdom  in  his  little  head,  and  es- 
pecially gave  proof  of  it  by  attending  to  the- 
advice  of  his  mother. 

'  Alas  1  dear  child,'  said  the  old  pig  one  day,. 
'  I  feel  convinced  that  I  shall  be  summoned  by 
our  chief  to  join  the  herd  that  are  now  on  the 
other  side  of  the  forest.  The  journey  would  be 
much  too  long  and  fatiguing  for  you  and  your- 
brothers.  Besides,  there  is  the  river  to  cross,  and 
for  such  young  creatures  the  stream  is  too  rapids 
You  had  all  better  remain  here  until  the  spring, 
when  I  will  return,  and  in  all  probabilitj'  bring- 
you  some  companions. 

'  Before  I  leave,  however,  I  am  anxious  t* 
see  you  established  in  a  secure  dwelling-place. 
I  fear  our  old  tree  is  no  longer  a  safe  abode- 
Peaky-Nose,  in  the  course  of  his  researches,, 
has  made  so  many  holes  about  the  roots,  that  I 
cannot  but  think  their  strength  has  been  greatly 
lessened. 

'  This  sultry  weather  is  sure  to  be  followed  hy 
severe  storms,  and  I  doubt  whether  the  old 
chestnut  will  survive  a  heavy  gale  of  wind. 
The  ground  around  it  is  cracking  in  various- 
places,  and  last  night  I  heard  such  ominous 
noises  that  my  heart  misgives  me  as  to  youi- 
safety. 

'  My  advice  is,  that  you  make  a  snug  little- 
house  amongst  that  heap  of  stones.     AYe  could 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


155 


so  arrange  tliem  that  you  would  te  protected 
not  only  from  storms  but  also  from  tlie  attacks 
of  our  enemies. 

'  I  am  told  that  the  wicked  old  fox  who  bit  off 
Peaky-Nose's  tail  has  come  to  live  very  near  us 
■ — on  the  hill  near  the  woodman's  cottage.  Of 
all  the  cunning  foxes  I  have  ever  met  with,  he 
is  the  most  deceitful  and  the  most  daring.  I 
camiot  but  feel  anxious,  for  I  fear  any  advice  I 
may  give  them  will  be  thrown  away  upon  your 
brothers,  for  they  both  think  they  know  better 
than  I  do.' 

The  result  showed  that  her  fears  were  correct. 

"VAlien  the  old  pig  spoke  to  Dumpy,  he  was 
so  nearly  asleep  that  lie  merely  turned  himself 
round  amongst  the  leaves,  jfawned  several  times, 
and  then  said  in  a  drowsy  voice,  '  Thank  you, 
mother,  for  your  kind  offer,  but  I  am  so  com- 
fortable that  I  think  I  will  stay  where  I  am. 
There  is  plenty  to  eat  here,  and  I  dare — say — 
the — fox — will — not — come.'  The  last  words 
were  very  nearly  inaudible,  and  were  scarcely 
spoken  before  Dumpy  was  again  fast  asleep. 

As  for  Peaky-Nose,  he  protested  he  saw  no 
necessity  for  taking  such  exceeding  trouble.  '  I 
have  satisfied  myself,'  said  he,  'after  careful 
examination,  that  there  is  nothing  more  soothing 
to  the  skin  of  a  pig  than  mud.  It  is  cool  in 
summer  and  warm  in  winter.  I  have  resolved, 
therefore,  to  make  myself  a  dwelling  of  mud,  into 
which  I  can  creep  and  close  the  entrance,  should 
I  find  occasion  to  do  so.  Such  a  house  is  so 
easily  made,  that  I  shall  be  able  to  change  my 
lodging  whenever  I  may  wish  to  do  so.' 

Finding  the  two  eldest  pigs  required  no  help, 
the  mother  and  Curly-Tail  set  to  work  amongst 
the  stones,  and  in  a  short  time  they  had  made 
the  snuggest  Httle  place  that  ever  was  seen. 
There  was  a  nice  little  door,  and  a  nice  little 
window,  and  even  a  nice  little  chimney  in  case 
it  should  ever  be  advisable  to  make  a  fire. 

The  new  house  was  scarcely  finished  ere  the 
summons  to  the  old  pig  came.  It  made  her  very 
sad  to  go,  but  delay  was  impossible.  She'  was 
boimd  to  obey  the  orders  of  her  chief,  so  she 
prepared  to  leave  her  young  ones,  and  set  forth 
on  her  long  journey. 

Before  she  went  she  gave  them  much  good 
advice,  and  especially  warned  them  to  beware 
of  the  cunning  fox. 

(To  lie  coritimied.) 


THE    SHEPHERD    OF 
q4       SALISBURY  PLAIN. 

AVID  SAUNDEES,  who  is 
the  original  of  Hannah  More's 
beautiful  Sheplierd  of  Salis- 
bury Plain,  once  gave  the  fol- 
lowing account  of  himself  to  a 
gentleman  who  visited  him  : — 
'  Thanks  to  God  I  through 
His  mercy  I  learned  to  read  when  I  was  a  boy. 
I  believe  there  is  no  day,  for  the  last  thirty 
years,  that  I  have  not  peeped  at  my  Bible. 

'  If  I  can't  find  time  to  read  a  chapter,  I 
defy  any  one  to  say  I  can't  find  time  to  read 
a  verse  ;  and  a  single  text,  well  followed  and 
put  in  practice  every  day,  would  make  no  bad 
figure  at  the  year's  end ;  365  texts,  without  the 
loss  of  a  moment's  time,  would  make  a  pretty 
stock,  a  little  golden  treasury,  as  one  may  say, 
from  New-year's  Day  to  New-year's  Day  ;  and 
if  children  were  brought  up  to  it,  they  would 
come  to  look  for  their  text  as  naturally  as  they 
do  for  their  breakfast. 

'  I  can  say  the  greater  part  of  the  Bible  by 
heart.  I  have  led  a  very  lonely  hfe,  and  often, 
have  had  but  little  to  eat,  but  my  Bible  has 
been  meat,  drink,  and  company  to  me ;  and 
when  want  and  trouble  have  come  upon  me, 
I  don't  know  what  I  should  have  done,  if  I  had 
not  had  His  promises  in  this  Book  for  my  com- 
fort and  support.' 


PROVERBS    OLD    AND    NEW. 

A  MAN  in  a  passion  rides  a  horse  that  runs  away 
with  him. — Anger  punishes  itself. 


A    SON'S    DEVOTION. 

HISTORY  tells  us  that  the  guard  of 
Pomponius,  having  determined  to  re- 
volt, fled  by  a  certain  way  to  Cinna,  his  enemy. 
His  son,  who  afterwards  became  Pompey  the 
Great,  having  heard  of  this,  went  in  haste,  cast 
himself  on  the  ground  before  the  soldiers,  and 
declared  that  they  should  not  revolt  without 
treading  him  to  pieces.  He  was  a  great  favourite 
with  the  army,  and  this  action  was  the  means  of 
turning  them  from  their  purpose,  so  that  they 
returned  to  their  duty. 


15G 


SuNDA  Y  Reading  for  the  Young. 


EVERYTHING  HAS 
SOMETHING. 

THE  snail  slie  lias  her  little 
lioiise ; 
A  soft,  warm  skin  lias  clothed  the 

mouse ; 
The  sparrow  she  has  feathers  light 
The  butterfly  has  wings  so  bright. 

The  eagle  he  has  pinions  strong ; 
The  fish  has  fins  to  swim  along  ; 
The  little  plant  has  flowers  so  fair; 
The  flower  itself  has  perfume  rare. 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


157 


A    TEXT    TO    COLOUR. 


158 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


MIXED     PICKLES. 

(Continued  from  page  148.) 

CnATTER    XI. DREADFl'LLY 

FRIGHTENED. 

vISS  BRYDA;  said  Uncle  Jnclc 
at  breakfast  next  morning,  '  if 
you  Ivnow  what  I  know  yon 
wouki  be  a  good  deal  wiser 
than  you  are  now.' 
'  I  dare  say  I  should,  Uncle  Jack,' 
answered  Bryda,  poutin 
pose  you  mean 
if  I  knew  all 
the  dates  of  all 
the  Norman  Kings,  and 
could  speak  French  with- 
out any  mistakes,  and 
—  and  —  several  other 
things.' 

'  Such    as   how  many 
teans    make    five  ?    and 
that      useful      kind      of 
thing    to   know,   I  sup- 
pose ?     But  if  I  were  a 
little  girl,  and    any   one 
told    me   the   very    nice 
piece   of  news   which   I 
•Jhiuk   I   had   better  not 
tell  you,  why,  I   should 
really   and    trulj',    I   do 
believe,  be  obliged  to 
get  up  and  give  the 
person  a  kiss.     Espe- 
cially   if    he    was 
young     and     very 
handsome  I'    added 

Uncle  Jack,  twirling  his  moustache,  and  looking 
very  seriously  at  his  niece. 

Evidently  the  only  chance  of  getting  this 
news  was  to  get  up  and  give  him  a  kiss,  which 
Bryda  did,  and  both  she  and  Uncle  Jack  were 
promptly  scolded  by  grandmother,  who  said 
that  in  her  young  days'  she  used  to  sit  still  at 
breakfast  till  every  one  had  finished. 

Uncle  Jack  begged  her  pardon  at  once,  very 
politely  indeed,  and  then  told  Bryda  his  piece  of 
news. 

'  I  know  a  field,  a  very  little  way  off,  where 
there  is  a  hedge  simply  crawling  vith  black- 
berries.' 


Grandmother  was  a  little  deaf,  so  she  did  not 
hear  what  he  said  quite  rightly,  and  with  a 
little  scream  she  said, — 

'  Crawling   with   black -beetles  !      Oh,  John  I 
for  ]iity's  sake  have  them  all  killed  at  once!' 
'  I  will,  mother  dear,  and  they  yhiill  be  ma<le 
into  jelly  for  your   dinner,'   said   Uncle  Jack, 
laughing. 

But  the  dear  old  lady  grew  quite  excited 
about  the  black-beetles,  and  he  had  with  some 
trouble  to  explain  that  a  hedge  crawling  with 
blackberries  was  a  way  of  speaking  that  he  had 
invented  to  make  Bryda 
laugh.  '  She  so  seldom 
does  laugh,  poor  child  1' 
he  said. 

Well,  Uncle  Jack  was 
going  to  shoot  this 
morning,  and  ho  would 
take  Bryda  to  the  black- 
berry hedge,  and  leave 
her  there  till  he  came 
back  again. 

So  he  did,  and  Bryda, 
as  she  marched  off  with 
a  big  basket  on  her  arm, 
beside  Uncle  Jack  \\\^\  a 
gun,  made  a  little  request. 
'  IMight  Beppo  come 
and  help  her '?  It  would 
be  a  very  little  round  to 
pass  old  Roger's  cottage, 
Bryda  would  like  it  so.' 

'  Why,  what   a   little 

coax  it  is  1 '  said   Uncle 

Jack ;  '  and  pray  who  is 

Beppo?' 

Bryda  soon  explained,  telling  Uncle  Jack  all 

about  the  little  boy  who  so  much  interested  her, 

and  his  poor  mother. 

'  And  he's  such  a  nice  boy,'  she  ended.  '  He 
has  curly  hair,  and  big,  black  eyes,  and  speaks 
such  very  funny  English  ! ' 

'  He  must  be  a  nice  little  boy  with  all  those 
charms  1 '  laughed  Uncle  Jack.  And  to  Eoger's 
cottage  they  went. 

Roger  was  at  home,  and  so  was  his  cat. 
Uncle  Jack  began  to  talk  to  the  old  man. 
Bryda,  after  looking  round  for  Beppo,  seized  the 
cat,  and  sat  down  on  a  stool  to  pretend  it  was 
a  baby,   and   put   it   to   sleep,  with  her   eyes 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


159 


continually  fixed  on  the  door  of  the  Italian 
woman's  room. 

Into  this  room  Uncle  Jack  -went  presently, 
and  Bryda  was  left  alone  with  Roger.  Now 
was  the  time  to  ask  him  about  Liz  and  his 
palace  home,  and  if  he  was  not  sorry  Liz  had 
died  before  he  could  go  there. 

'  IJogcr,'  she  asked,  not  quite  knowing  how 
to  begin,  '  when  did  you  say  you  were  going 
home'?' 

'  As  soon  as  I've  finished  the  bit  o'  work  I've 
had  set  me  here,  missy.  Maybe  if  I'd  made 
fewer  mistakes  over  it  I'd  be  there  by  now.  It's 
oh  I  my  clumsy  hands,  never  fit  to  touch  it  at 
all!' 

'  Do  yoxi  mean  your  carpentering  ? '  asked 
Bryda,  wondering. 

'  Not  quite  that,  Miss  Bryda,'  answered  the  old 
man,  looking  away  through  the  little  window. 
'  It's  weaving  work  more  than  carpentering 
work,  making  a  bit  of  the  Bride's  beautiful 
marriage-dress.  There's  a  many  weavers  set  to 
that  work,  missy — ay,  many  tliey  are  I  And 
some  waste  the  materials  and  do  nought;  an' 
some  put  gold  and  silver  thread  into  the  pattern 
anyhow,  an'  it's  all  mixed  and  spoiled.  But 
there's  some  good  workers  weave  the  bright 
threads  and  the  dull  threads  as  they  were 
meant  to  be,  and  work  real  pearls  on  it,  and 
seldom  make   a  fault.      That's    how  my   Liz 


worked;  but  I've  been  a  clumsy  one — ah,  sad 
and  clumsj'  old  Roger's  been  all  his  life  !' 

'  When  will  the  wedding  be,  Roger,  and 
where'?     Is  it  to  be  in  the  old  church  hero?' 

Roger  shook  his  head. 

'  When  will  the  dress  be  finished,  missy,  the 
Bride's  beaiitiful  dress  that's  so  long  a-makin'  'Y 
an'  where  will ' 

Here  Roger  was  interrupted,  much  to  Bryda's 
grief,  for  Uncle  Jack  came  oiit  of  the  sick  room, 
looking  much  less  cheerful  than  when  he  went 
in,  and  leading  Beppo  by  the  hand.  He  spoke 
in  a  low  tone  to  Roger,  to  whom  Bryda  saw  him 
give  money,  and  wondered  why  he  should,  whea 
the  old  man  was,  she  believed,  so  rich  already. 
Then  beckoning  to  Bryda,  he  left  the  cottage. 

'  Now,  Beppo,  ^-Qu  shall  go  and  play  with 
this  young  lady.  Will  you  be  very  good?'  he 
asked  outside. 

'  Oh,  si,  si  I  I  mean  say,  j'es,  sir  I'  answered 
the  little  Italian,  looking  brightl}'  at  Bryda,  who 
seemed  to  him  now  quite  an  old  friend,  and 
spealring  his  queer  English. 

So  Uncle  Jack  led  them  both  into  his  black- 
berry field,  which  was  quite  as  good  as  he  had 
said. 

'  It's  simply  beautiful  1 '  Bryda  said  to  Unola 
Jack  as  he  went  away,  promising  to  return  by- 
and-by  and  fetch  theul. 

{To  be  continued.) 


HAYMAKING-TIME. 


HERE'S  a  time  to  work  and 

a  time  to  jJay, 
And  a  time  to  rest  and  sleep  ; 
There's  a  time  to  mow  and  to 
carry  the  hay, 
And  a  time  to  sow  and  reap ; 
Oh,  there's  many  a  day  we  do 
little  but  play, 
And  merry  and  blithe  are  we  ; 
But  of  every  day,  the  first  of  May, 
The  first  of  May  for  me. 

Oh,  Christmas  Day  is  a  blessed  day, 

And  happy  we  all  should  be  ; 
And  then  the  New  Year  will  bring  good  cheer, 

With  ple-aty  of  mirth  and  glee. 


And  Twelfth -tide  comes  with  its  cake  full  of 
plums, 

And  its  king  and  queen  so  grand  ; 
But  of  every  day,  the  first  of  May 

Is  the  happiest  day  in  the  land. 

Then  at  Shrove-tide,  how  its  pancakes  light 

They  duly  toss  and  broMTi ; 
And   Good  Friday   comes,  with   its  saddened 
thought, 

And  Easter  for  the  Cro^ATi  I 
And  a  holiday  prime,  is  Whitsun-time, 

We've  always  a  blithesome  day; 
But   what   can  compare   with  the  spring-time 
fair, 

Or  the  scent  of  the  new -mown  hay  1 

A.  B.  ,n 


160 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Vouag. 


The  IlaYinakers. 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


161 


Polycarp  before  the  Pro-Consul. 


1G2 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


THE    DEATH    OF    POLYCAEP. 

WHEN  Polycarp,  an  ancient  Bishop  of 
the  Church  at  Smyrna,  was  brought  to 
the  tribunal,  the  Pro-Consul  asked  him  if  he 
was  Polycarp,  to  which  he  assented. 

The  Pro-Consul  then  began  to  exhort  hira, 
saying, '  Have  pity  on  thine  own  great  age,  swear 
by  the  fortunes  of  Caesar, — repent  1 '  say,  '  Take 
away  these  Atheists,'  meaning  the  Christians. 

Polycarp  casting  his  eyes  solemnly  over  the 
multitude,  waving  his  hand  to  them,  and  looking 
up  to  heaven,  said, '  Take  away  these  Atheists,' 
meaning  the  idolaters  around  him.  The  Pro- 
Consul  still  urging  him,  and  saying,  '  Swear  I 
a-nd  I  will  release  thee;  reproach  Christ,' — Poly- 
carp said,  '  Eighty-and-six  years  have  I  served 
Him,  and  He  hath  never  wronged  me ;  and  how 
can  I  blaspheme  my  King  who  hath  saved  me  ?' 

'  I  have  wild  beasts,'  said  the  judge,  '  and 
will  expose  you  to  them  unless  you  repent.' 

'  Call  them,'  cried  the  martyr. 

'  I  will  tame  your  spirit  by  fire,'  said  the 
Eoman. 

'  You  threaten  me,'  said  Polycarjj,  '  with  the 
fire  which  burns  only  for  a  moment,  but  are 
yourself  ignorant  of  the  fire  of  eternal  punishment 
reserved  for  the  ungodly.' 

Then,  when  they  were  about  to  put  him  to 
death,  he  exclaimed,  '  0  Father  of  Thy  beloved. 
Blessed  Son  Jesus  Christ  1  I  bless  Thee  that 
Thou  hast  counted  me  worthy  of  this  day  and 
iour,  to  receive  my  portion  in  the  number  of  the 
martyrs,  in  the  cup  of  Christ.  I  bless  Thee,  I 
glorify  Thee,  through  Whom,  and  in  Whom,  and 
to  Whom  be  glory,  both  now  and  for  ever.  Amen.' 


A 


THE    LITTLE    STAE. 

LITTLE  discontented  star 
Came  peeping  out  one  night. 


But  when  it  saw  the  bright  full  moon 

Bathed  in  her  silver  light, 
It  sighed,  and  said,  '  What  need  of  m-e  ? 
The  moon  is  shining  full  and  free.' 

The  foolish  little  star  ne'er  thought 
That  darker  nights  would  come. 

The  moon  then  quite  withdraws  her  light 
Out  of  heaven's  high  dome; 

And  then  the  pretty  little  star 

Shines  peacefully  around  and  far. 


And  sailors,  out  upon  the  deep, 

Keep  count  of  every  one. 
Shaping  their  course  amid  the  waves 

By  stars  and  setting  sun ; 
And  if  one  star  kept  back  its  light 
The  sailor  could  not  steer  aright. 

So  little  children,  like  the  star. 
May  think  they're  far  too  small ; 

That  all  the  Hght  that  they  can  give 
Would  do  no  good  at  all ; 

But  the  light  of  Love  makes  eyes  so  bright^ 

It  turns  our  darlaiess  into  light. 

Joanna  McKean.. 


EARTHLY   GREATNESS. 

THE  great  Saladin,  emperor  of  the  Saracens,, 
was  dying.  He  called  to  his  side  the^ 
herald  who  had  carried  his  banner  before  him  in 
his  battles,  and  he  commanded  him  to  fasten  to 
the  top  of  the  lance  the  shroud  in  which  he  was 
to  be  buried. 

'  Go,'  said  the  Emperor ;  '  unfurl  this  banner,, 
and  while  you  lift  it  as  a  standard,  proclaim, — 
"  This  is  all  that  remains  to  Saladin,  the  con- 
queror and  Iring,  of  all  his  glory."  ' 


THE    THREE    LITTLE    PIGS. 

{Contimted  from  page  155.) 

HE  poor  mother,  like  human: 
mothers,  could  but  give  her 
children  good  advice.  '  There 
are  few  animals  more  agreeable 
than  foxes  ;  they  have  very 
pleasant  and  taking  manners, 
but  they  generally  lead  young 
people  into  trouble.  Believe' 
mc,  they  are  not  safe  friends  for 
little  pigs;  for  they  rarely  fail  to- 
devour  them  at  last.  Our  kind  neighbours,  the 
squirrels,  who  see  a  great  deal  of  the  world,  say 
that  so  crafty  and  so  savage  a  creature  as  this- 
fox  has  not  been  known  in  the  forest  for  years. 
He  kills  for  the  mere  pleasure  of  killing,  and 
will  often  murder  a  dozen  rabbits  when  he  only- 
requires  one  for  his  supper.' 

For  some  time  after  the  mother's  dejjartur© 
everything  went  on  quietly.  The  sun  shone 
brilliantly,  the  chestnuts  were  abundant,  and  nc> 
savage  foe  came  near  the  tree. 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


IGS^ 


TLe  "tliree  little  pigs  were  therefore  very  happy, 
■sacli  in  his  own  waj^,  and  each  thought,  '  I  really 
znust  lie  very  clever,  all  goes  so  well.' 

At  last,  as  the  old  pig  had  foreseen,  a  sudden 
•change  of  weather  took  place.  Tlie  sun  ceased 
4o  shine  ;  dark  lowering  clouds  ohscured  his  rays. 
'Then  the  forest  hegan  to  moan,  m  answer  to  the 
autumnal  gales,  and  soon  the  equinoctial  storms 
.-arrived  in  all  their  dread  magnificence.  The 
wind  howled  through  the  trees,  tearing  off  great 
branches,  and  scattering  the  leaves  far  and  wide. 
Even  the  mighty  oaks,  those  monarchs  of  the 
wood,  had  to  bend  before  the  terrible  strength 
■of  the  blast. 

The  tempest  one  night  reached  its  height, 
^nd  on  every  side  ^-esounded  the  crash  of  falling 
^;rees;  at  last  there  came  a  heavy  blow  that 
.seemed  to  shake  the  very  earth,  a  great  bolt  of 
fire  rent  the  forest,  and  lighting  on  the  grand 
old  chestnut,  the  noble  tree  was  riven  into  many 
pieces  in  an  instant,  and  fell  in  ruin  upon  the 
:gronnd. 

The  terror  of  the  poor  little  pigs  may  be 
imagined.  They  were  so  frightened  that  they 
■could  only  run  round  and  round.  Tliey  never 
thought  why  they  ran ;  they  never  thought 
-why  they  went  so  fast.  Lucidly  for  them,  the 
storm  had  kept  even  the  beasts  of  prey  in  their 
dens,  otherwise  they  would  certainly  have  been 
■eaten.  The  next  day,  however,  they  were  more 
composed,  and  though  they  were  very  grieved 
to  have  lost  their  comfortable  tree,  they  set  to 
"work  to  settle  themselves  in  a  new  home. 

Directly  his  fright  was  over,  Dumpy  felt 
QBore  hungry  and  more  sleepy  than  ever,  and  he 
had  no  sooner  made  a  good  meal  of  chestnuts 
-than  he  rolled  himself  up  in  the  nearest  heap  of 
leaves,  and  was  fast  asleep. 

Peaky-Nose  repaired  to  his  stream,  which 
had  been  much  swollen  by  the  rush  of  water. 
The  banks  in  several  places  had  been  washed 
away  by  the  violence  of  the  torrent,  so  he  found 
many  new  holes  and  crevices,  which  he  set  him- 
self to  explore  with  his  accustomed  diligence. 
Mud  there  was  also  in  abundance,  with  which 
he  speedily  made  himself  a  dwelling  that  he 
-thought  admirable. 

Curly-Tail,  to  his  great  satisfaction,  found  that 
his  house  was  none  the  worse  for  the  storm. 
The  stones  were  so  big,  and  had  been  so  well 
put  together,  that  neither  rain  nor  wind  had 


done  them  any  injury ;  and  when  the  owner 
went  in  he  felt  himself  as  comfortable  and  ealo 
as  a  pig  could  wish  to  be. 

In  the  meantime,  the  crafty  old  fox  LaJ  not 
forgotten  the  nice  little  pigs  who  lived  dcWB  in 
the  forest. 

Whilst  the  old  mother  was  there  he  had  not 
dared  go  near  them  again.  Her  great  tusks 
were  too  alarming. 

An  expedition  against  a  distant  hen-house 
had  also  occupied  him  for  some  days.  His 
delight  was  great  when  he  learnt  on  his  return 
home  that  the  old  pig  had  gone  away 

'  Now  is  the  time  for  me,'  said  the  fox  to 
himself.  '  I  dare  say  these  three  little  pigs  are 
as  silly  and  conceited  as  most  yomrg  thmgs  are. 
The  very  thought  makes  me  hungry.  It  is  so 
long  since  I  have  had  a  really  good  supper  that 
I  am  convinced  I  am  growing  thin.' 

One  evening  he  trotted  through  the  forest, 
severely  frightening  an  old  woman  who  was 
gathering  sticks  to  light  her  fire,  and  creeping 
cautiously  through  the  bushes,  he  stole  up  to 
the  place  where  Dumpy,  who  had  as  usual 
indulged  in  a  too  plentifid  meal,  was  sleeping 
soundly  beneath  the  heap  of  leaves  with  which 
he  had  covered  himself. 

Before  he  knew  where  he  was — before  he 
had  time  to  utter  more  than  one  sharp  cry — the 
fox  was  upon  him,  and  had  fastened  his  sharp 
fangs  in  the  j)oor  siUy  little  pig's  throat.  In  a 
very  short  time  Dumpy  was  dead,  and  his  foe 
was  eating  him  for  supper.  Some  good  people 
will  say,  '  How  cruel !  better  not  relate  such 
things.'  But  then  we  must  be  true  in  -wi-iting 
stories  of  wild  animals,  and  the  fox  was  acting 
only  after  Ins  natural  instincts. 

Having  once  found  out  how  very  nice  these 
pigs  were,  he  could  not  rest  until  he  had  tasted 
another;  so,  not  long  after  poor  Dumpy's  sad 
end,  Mr.  Fox  went  down  the  hill  again  on  a 
similar  errand. 

Peaky-Nose,  however,  was  not  going  to  be  so 
easy  a  prey  as  his  brother  had  been.  He  had 
piled  up  such  a  quantity  of  mud  that  he  had 
made  himself  quite  a  strong  house,  and  it  was 
not  possible  to  get  at  him. 

In  vain  the  fox  bit  and  scratched  at  the  walls. 
They  were  too  strong  to  be  torn  dov\'n  in  that 
way,  so  the  fox  had  to  go  back  as  hungry  as  ha 
came.  [To  u  continticd.) 


164 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Youag. 


On  the  eds'e  of  the  Forest. 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


16& 


MIXED     PICKLES, 

(Contmmd  from  X'a3e  159.) 


LEFT  alone,  tlie  two  children  were  happy 
enough,  and  their  tongues  wagged  very 
fast  indeed.  Beppo  told  his  little  companion 
about  his  own  country,  where  oranges,  hanging 
on  dark  green  trees,  might  be  had  for  the  trouble 
of  gathering ;  and  about  beautiful  vineyards, 
mth  clusters  of  white  and  purple  grapes,  and 
the  merr3',  merry  vintage  -  time.  Ah  I  if  they 
could  go  back  to  Italy  again,  he  was  sure  his 
dear,  dear  mother  would  be  quite  well  again ! 


His  father  was  dead,  and  the  mother  grew 
poorer  and  poorer  in  her  own  country,  and  at 
last  she  dreamt  night  after  night  that  if  she 
would  go  north  to  England  she  would  be  able 
to  get  money  for  herself  and  her  boy,  and  come 
home  quite  rich.  But  it  was  not  so ;  peoi^le  did 
not  seem  to  like  barrel-organs  much,  and  the 
little  money  his  mother  had, 'had  all  gone  to  buy 
this  instniment. 

Often  they  had  been  sent  from  houses  with 
angry  words ;  often  they  had  nowhere  to  sleep ; 
often  they  had  nothing  to  eat. 

Bryda  had  never  known  real  hunger.    She  had 


Imown  how  pleasant  it  was  to  come  in  tired  and 
hungry  after  a  long  expedition,  and  how  delicious- 
bread-and-butter  tasted  then,  and  jam  I  but  to 
ache  with  hunger,  and,  when  ready  to  faint, 
not  have  any  food,  how  terrible  that  must  be ! 

But  very  soon  both  Bryda  and  Beppo  forgot 
that  there  ever  had  been  any  troubles  in  the 
world,  they  were  so  busy  and  so  happy  with  the 
blackberries. 

What  a  dehghtful  amusement  blackberry- 
hunting  is  !  To  see  the  basket 
filling  fast  with  the  fat,  sweet, 
well-flavoured  berries  ;  to  eat 
one  after  another,  because  this 
one  is  crushed  or  that  one  is 
too  nice  to  part  with,  or  a  third 
may  have  a  different  flavour 
since  it  grows  on  another  hush 
— how  nice  it  is !  We  eat, 
and  chatter,  and  eat  again,  till 
fingers  and  mouths  are  stained 
a  dark  red  colour ;  and  how  we 
laugh  and  make  fun  I  Only 
one  thing  vexes  us — that  is, 
that  the  very  nicest,  finest  fel- 
lows always  ^oill  grow  right 
up  at  the  top  of  the  hedge, 
just  out  of  reach  even  of  our 
longest  stick !  They  would  be 
so  nice ;  but  very  often,  after 
straggling  a  good  deal,  scratch- 
ing faces  and  hands,  and  get- 
ting wet  feet  by  slipping  into 
the  ditch,  we  have  to  give  it 
lip  and  own  ourselves  beaten, 
we  have  generally  quite  enough 
for  the  jam  or  the  puddings  we  want  to  make, 
and  in  great  triumj)h  we  go  home,  each  boasting 
of  having  gathered  most ! 

So  Bryda  aijd  Beppo  amused  themselves,  and 
wandered  on  at  last  to  the  other  end  of  the  field. 
Here  there  was  a  gate  leading  into  another  field, 
where  was  a  very  high  hedge  with  what  seemed 
to  the  children  the  best  blackberries  they  had 
seen. 

In  a  moment  they  were  through  the  bars  of 
the  high  gate  and  in  the  field.  Just  as  they 
entered  it  a  loud  shout  came  from  before  them. 


Never  mind  I 


16G 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


and  Bryda,  looking  across  the  field,  saw  the 
terrible  Moll  Dawson  -waving  her  hands  and 
shouting  to  them. 

Terrified,  she  caught  Beppo's  hand,  and 
dragged  him  further  into  the  field.  On  the  side 
where  the  blackberries  were,  there  were  also  some 
trees,  and  bej'ond  was  a  little  wood.  They 
might  hide  in  this  and  be  safe.  If  Moll 
Dawson  foimd  them,  what  would  she  not  do  ? 
She  might  take  all  their  blackberries.  She 
jmight  ill-treat  them  in  some  dreadful  way. 
She  was  so  big  and  strong,  and  there  was  no 
Jielp  near.     What  might  she  not  do  ? 

So  Bryda  and  her  companion,  poor  Beppo ! 
'%vho  was  frightened  because  she  was  frightened 
— though  he  did  not  in  the  least  know  why— 
■these  two  fled  further  into  the  field,  while  Moll 
Dawson  still  beckoned  and  called. 

Bryda,  seeing  that  the  girl  did  not  come  into 
the  field,  took  courage  a  little,  and  looked  about 
her.  Oh,  terror  1  if  she  was  frightened  before,  she 
was  now,  as  if  rooted  to  the  ground  with  fear. 

Sullenly  coming  towards  the  poor  children, 
sniffing  violently  as  he  came,  and  glaring  at 
"them  with  wicked  eyes,  was  an  immense  bull ! 

'  Rim,  Beppo  1 '  screamed  Bryda.  Beppo  looked 
at  her  a  moment.  '  Run  1  I  am  coming  1 '  she 
cried ;  and  Beppo  was  off  like  the  wind  towards 
•the  gate  where  Moll  Dawson  beckoned. 

Bryda,  looking  round  a  moment,  saw  a  great 
board,  with  '  Beware  of  the  Bull  1 '  nailed  against 
a  tree  in  the  middle  of  the  field. 

Only  for  a  moment  she  looked.  Was  there 
any  hope  of  her  being  able  to  climb  a  tree  ? 
Which  gate  was  nearest  ?  The  dreadful  animal 
■was  some  little  way  off.  If  Bryda  ran  with 
Beppo  she  might  escape.  In  a  second  she  was 
off;  but,  alas  I  alas  I  the  bull  was  after  her. 

He  came  on  bellowing  and  roaring. 

Beppo  was  safe.  He  reached  the  gate  before 
Bryda ;  but  she,  rushing  half-blind  with  terror, 
tripped  as  the  fierce  animal  was  close  behind  her, 
and,  with  a  wild  shriek,  fell  flat  on  her  face  a 
yard  or  two  from  the  gate  I 

(To  he  continued.) 


TRUTH. 

TRUTH  is  like  a  sohd  cube :  no  matter  bow 
it  is  thrown,  it  is  sure  to  fall  and  to  stand 
■fu'm. 


ONLY   A    HALPPEWNT! 

(Continued  from  page  150.) 

OD  was  watching  over 
Sam.  The  ques- 
tions ended,  Sam's 
new  -  found  friend 
paused  a  moment, 
and  then  addressing 
the  boy,  said- —       ,, 

'  Now,  Sam,  I 
told  you  I  would 
see  what  I  conld  do 
for  you,  and  I  will 
tell  you  my  plan. 
Yon  wish  to  learn, 
and  I  am  sure  you 
would  like  to  be 
helped  to  get  aa 
honest  hving,  in  a 
better  way  than, 
sweeping  a  crossing. 
Instead,  then,  of  taking  you  into  St.  Mark's 
School,  and  leaving  you  still  to  your  garret  and 
your  broom,  this  gentleman  will  take  you  into 
his  service,  if  you  are  willing;  and  every  chance 
will  be  given  to  you  of  learning,  not  only  to  read 
and  write,  but  also  to  get  a  good  character  as 
an  industrious  and  honest  boy.  Will  you  go?' 
Tears  stood  in  Sam's  eyes  as  he  faltered 
out,  '  Oh  I  sir,  I  can't  thank  you  enough  for 
giving  me  a  chance  in  life.  You  shall  never 
regret  speaking  for  me,  though  you  can't  tell 

whether  I  am  honest  or ' 

'  One  moment,  Sam,  before  you  thank  lis,  for 
I  am  really  powerless  but  for  Mr.  Massey's 
kindness.  I  have  not  told  you  what  sort  of 
life  yours  will  be — it  will  be  to  go  on  board  a 
small  ship,  called  a  yacht;  and  though  not 
always  at  sea,  if  you  think  you  would  be  afraid, 
or  not  like  a  life  on  the  water,  it  would  not  do.' 

'  I  wouldn't  mind  what  it  is,  sir,  but  I  think  I 
shijuld  like  the  sea  best  of  all ;  and  I  hope  I  may 
live  to  prove  my  gratitude  to  you— and  to  you, 
sir,  too,'  turning  to  Mr.  Slassey,  and  touching 
the  place  where  his  oap  would  have  been. 

IMr.  Massey  nodded  his  head  in  silent  approval, 
and  tapped  the  ends  of  his  fingers  together  as  he 
feat ;  his  smile  reassured  Sam. 
The  curate  rang  the  bell. 
'Mrs.    M will   give  you   some  clothes, 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


i6r 


and  yoTi  can  have  a  good  wasli,  and  see  how 
spruce  you  can  make  yourself,  and  then  come  to 
us  again.'  And  the  housekeeper  appearing  at 
this  moment,  Sam  followed  her  from  the  room. 

'  He  will  do  ! '  said  Mr.  Massey.  '  This  is 
the  turning-point  in  that  boy's  life.  He  has  an 
honest  face,  and  with  training  will  soon  learn 
his  work;  while  it  will  he  a  delight  to  us  to  lead 
him  to  the  better  life,  of  which  he  has  too 
probably  never  heard.' 

'  It  is  by  far  the  best  for  his  future  welfare, 
that  he  should  leave  for  ever  his  old  haunts  and 
those  he  has  known.' 

Sam  looked  a  different  being  when  he  appeared 
in  his  new  rig-out;  and  held  his  head  up  with 
an  honest,  independent  air,  which  made  him 
look  half  a  head  taller  than  he  really  was. 

The  banker  arranged  to  call  for  him  on  the 
way  to  the  station  in  the  early  morning,  and 
took  his  leave  ;  and  then  for  an  hour  the  clergy- 
man tallied  to  the  lad,  telling  him  the  simple 
facts  of  God's  dealings  with  the  world ; 
speaking  of  sin  and  sorrow,  and  the  wonderful 
story  of  Him  who,  though  God's  Son,  came 
to  live  on  earth  to  teach  men  how  to  live,  and 
died  upon  the  Cross  to  open  the  gates  of  heaven 
to  them. 

It  was  all  new  and  strange  to  the  young  soul, 
yet  seemed  familiar,  and  as  if  in  the  dim  past 
he  had  heard  it  before.  And  when  his  kind 
friend  taught  him  what  prayer  is,  and  how  to 
pray,  and  made  him  kneel  with  him,  while  he 
poured  out  earnest  words  and  desires  for  the 
young  soul's  welfare,  that  youthful  heart  was 
a-glow  with  gratitude  to  God,  and  his  friend, 
God's  servant,  of  both  of  whom  he  knew  so  little, 
and  of  both  of  whom  he  longed  to  know  more. 

The  '  good-night '  of  the  curate,  and  the 
pressure  of  his  hand  upon  the  lad's  shoulder, 
vrere  no  mere  formal  things  ;  they  were  a  prayer 
for  His  blessing  upon  what  had  been  begun. 

'I  have  given  you  enough  to  think  of  to-night, 
Sam ;  go  to  sleep,  and  trnst  yourself  with  one 
thought  of  prayer  to  the  Saviour,  who  will  be 
your  friend  through  life,  if  you  will  let  Him  I 
Good-night.' 

CHAPTER  II.  . 

Sam's  new  life  on  hoard  the  Gazelle  was  a 
very  happy  one  ;  he  soon  fell  into  the  way  of  his 
duties,  and  learned  readily  the  names  and  uses 


of  the  strange  things  that  belong  to  a  ship,  and 
he  soon  found  a  way  to  evince  his  gratitude  to- 
Mr.  Massey  for  all  he  had  done  for  him. 

All  through  the  summer  days  the  banker  and 
his  family  were  constantly  on  board  the  yacht, 
scarcely  a  day  passed  that  they  did  not  go  for 
a  sail  somewhere.  And  before  long  it  was  a 
settled  thing  for  Sam  to  go  up  to  the  house 
every  morning  that  was  convenient,  to  receive  a 
lesson  in  reading  and  writing  from  Miss  Mabel, 
who  had  willingly  undertaken  the  task  of 
teaching  him. 

So  liis  friend  the  curate's  wish  was  fulfilled. 
He  did  go  to  school,  though  not  to  St.  Mark's, 
and  the  halfpenny  was  doing  its  work  well. 

Sam's  busy  young  life  was  quite  filled,  and 
what  with  pot-hooks  to  write,  and  words  of 
spelling  to  learn,  and  the  ropes  and  spars  of  the 
yacht  to  get  by  heart,  he  had  very  little  time 
for  looking  back,  even  if  he  had  wished  :  but 
this  he  did  not ;  he  was  hapj^y  as  the  day  was- 
long,  and  made  himself  so  handy  and  generally 
useful,  that  very  soon  there  was  nothing  coidd 
go  on,  on  board,  without  Sam  having  a  hand  in 
it.  Especially  in  the  season,  when  yacht  races 
and  regattas  were  going  on,  was  his  usefulness- 
and  honesty  jjroved.  Mr.  Massey  kept  much 
company,  and  the  Gazelle  was  nearly  always- 
filled  with  friends,  to  see  the  racing. 
(To  be  continued.) 


TfllTA'S   AFTERNOOH". 

was  at  the  beautiful  Grosser  Gar- 
ten, in  Dresden,  that  little  Nina 
passed  her  summer  afternoon  with 
mother. 

Dresden  is  famous  for  its  beau- 
tiful sights,  and  mother  and  father 
had  spent  several  pleasant  weeks 
there,  making  holiday-time  among 
the  museums,  and  concerts,  and  gardens,  of  the 
Saxon  city;  and  Nina,  too,  was  haj)py  with 
nurse,  for  there  was  always  something  new  to 
see  and  hear  for  the  little  English  child,  who 
delighted  more  than  all  in  the  bands  of  music 
everywhere  to  be  hoard. 

But  Fraulein,  the  nurse,  had  gone  to  see  some 
German  friends  this  fine  sunny  day,  so  mother 
and  little  Nina  paid  a  visit  to  the  Zoological 


168 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Yolng. 


Nina's  Afternoon  in  the  Gardens. 

Gardens  and  beautiful  grounds  around  them,  paradise,  and  Nina  was  sori'y  when  the  slantmg 
And  Nina  was  charmed  with  the  birds  and  rays  of  the  sun  gave  notice  that  it  was  time  to 
animals   and   flowers.     It  was   almost  like   a      go  home  to  father  and  tea. 


SuNDA  y  Reading  for  the  Young. 


1G9 


'Tm  here! ' 
z 


170 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


'I'M    HERE.' 

EOSSING   a  London 
West-end  street  one 
day    ia    the    bright 
sunshine,  I  came  sud- 
denly on  a  sight  that 
made    a   lasting-  im- 
pression on  my  mind. 
On    the    steps    of   a 
large   mansion  sat  a 
httle    child,    looking 
as  if  he  had  wandered 
far   from   home    and 
lost  his  way,  only 
that  by  his  side, 
and  bolt  upright, 
as  much  as  to  say, 
'  Don't  be  afraid ; 
I'm  here  1'  was  a 
dog. 

There  was  no 
mistaking  that 
dog's  character. 
He  was  an  in- 
dependent fellow,  who  not  only  Imew  his  way 
home,  but  if  his  friend  Tommy  had  lost  his 
■way  he  meant  to  take  him  back  all  safe  and 
sound.  'I'm  here,"  was  written  as  plamly  as 
possible  on  doggie's  face,  and  a  perfectly  capable 
guardian  he  was. 

As  I  passed  he  gave  me  a  look  in  return  for 
my  stare  which  was  intelligent  as  words  ;  and  I 
cannot  help  the  belief  that  he  could  reason  as 
•well  as  some  of  us  —  a  friend  to  be  proud  of, 
and,  better  still,  once  a  friend  always  a  friend. 


A   STJTTDAY   ACEOSTIC. 

S  UMMEB  has  come,  with  its  sweet  wild  flowers 

U  nder  the  hedgerows  green  ; 

N  eath  bracken  and  fern  the  dew  drop  Ues, 

D  azzHng  in  silver  sheen. 

A  way,  away  to  the  woods  to-day ; 

Y  outh  is  the  time  to  be  blithe  and  gay. 


A    MAH    OF    PEACE. 

E  was  asked  one  day  how  he  kept 
himself  from  being  mixed  up  in  quarrels  ? 
He  replied,  '  By  letting  the  angry  person  always 
liave  tke  quaiTel  to  himself.' 


THE    THEEE   LITTLE   PIGS. 

{Continued  from  page  163.) 

MR.  FOX  next  thought  he  would  try 
what  a  little  cunning  might  do,  so, 
knocking  gently  at  the  door,  and  maldng  his 
voice  ■  as  soft  as  he  could,  '  My  dear  young 
friend,'  he  said,  '  will  you  not  let  me  in  to  say 
good  evening?  I  have  called  also  to  express 
my  regret  at  that  unfortunate  little  occuiTence 
about  your  tail.  I  was  admiring  its  shape, 
and  the  grace  with  which  you  waved  it  ia. 
the  air,  when  you  gave  that  unlucky  start.  I 
tried  to  detain  you,  to  assure  you  your 
alarm  was  needless,  when,  somehow,  the  tail 
came  off.  I  trust  you  will  accept  my  apo- 
logies, and  do  me  the  favour  of  accepting  a 
few  hairs  from  my  brush.  We  shall  doubt- 
less be  able  to  arrange  a  substitute  for  that 
you  have  lost,  and  your  good  taste  will  ere 
long  set  the  fashion  in  tails  to  all  the- 
learned  societies  of  pigs.  We  have  a  charm- 
ing little  select  club  of  animals  on  my  hiU,, 
and  at  the  next  meeting  I  shall  have  the- 
honour  of  proposing  you  as  a  distinguished 
member.  Wo  are  such  near  neighbours  ;  also 
we  might  often  have  a  friendly  chat  together. 
I  was  very  well  acquainted  with  your  dear- 
brother.' 

'  Oh,  yes  1 '  said  the  pig  from  within,  '  I  am. 
quite  aware  you  were  very  well  acquainted  witli 
my  late  dear  brother :  you  devoured  him.  I  do- 
not  desire  such  friendship  as  yours.  Begone,  and 
trouble  me  no  more.' 

These  words  made  the  fox  very  angry  ;  like-^ 
bad  people  who  tempt  others,  and  try  to  vic- 
timise them,  he  was  in  a  rage  when  he  perceived 
he  was  found  out.  His  cmming  had  been  of  no 
avail,  so  he  snapped  his  sharp  teeth  viciously 
together  and  snarled  out,  '  Very  well  I  you  re- 
fuse my  friendship ;  you  will  not  let  me  in.  I 
now  feel  it  a  duty  to  revenge  myself.  Wait  a 
little,  and  you  wiU  find  I  shall  get  hold  of  you 
some  day.' 

But  as  neither  cajoling  nor  angry  words  could ^ 
induce  Peaky-Nose  to  open  the  door,  Mr.  Fox: 
had  to  depart  as  hungry  as  he  came,  and  exceed- 
ingly cross  besides. 

Foxes  prefer  the  night  for  their  expeditions, 
so  Peaky-Nose  felt  fairly  safe  during  the  day, 
and  as  he  really  was  a  very  clever  little  pig  ha  , 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


171 


Tesolved  to  make  liis  dwelling  (as  lie  thouglit) 
quite  secure.  He  put  more  and  more  mud 
therefore  upon  Ids  house,  and  made  the  door 
■smaller  and  of  double  strength. 

It  was  well  he  did  so,  for  whenever  the  night 
was  dark  down  would  come  the  fox,  and  prowl 
round  and  round  the  hut,  scratching  and  biting 
at  the  walls  in  the  vain  hope  of  finding  a  weak 
place. 

Then  the  little  pig  inside  would  laugh,  and 
say,  'Ha,  ha,  Mr.  Fox!  I  told  you  that  you 
should  not  get  in.  You  see  I  am  cleverer  than 
you.  Yoa  think  yourself  very  cunning,  but 
you  will  be  IdUed  before  I  am.  The  hounds 
are  in  the  forest ;  I  heard  their  baying  this 
morning.  The  hunters  will  be  upon  you  very 
soon.' 

This  piece  of  news  rather  alarmed  the  fox. 
Still  he  trusted  to  his  o^vn  crafty  sldll  to  escaj^e. 
'  Men  are  so  stupid,'  thought  he ;  '  and  so  are  the 
hounds.  The  men  gallop  along  close  after  the 
hounds,  and  the  hounds  run  with  their  noses 
close  to  the  ground,  and  seldom  think  of  using 
their  eyes.  Should  I  be  closely  pursued  I  run 
to  the  water,  and  ten  to  one  they  never  find  out 
where  I  am.  At  any  rate,  if  I  am  only  to  have 
a  short  life  I  will  have  a  merry  one,  and  eat  this 
j)ig  I  WILL.  The  clouds  are  gathering,  we  shall 
have  rain  soon,  and  then  good-bye  to  piggy's 
fine  mud  hut.' 

The  rain  did  come,  but  the  mud  walls  were  so 
thick  that  even  the  heavy  storms  did  not  shake 
their  strength;  but,  unhappily,  poor  Peaky-Nose, 
"with  all  his  cleverness,  had  not  calculated  on  the 
effects  of  a  flood. 

Higher  and  higher  rose  the  stream.  .The 
rivulet  changed  to  a  river.  The  fierce  yellow 
waves  dashed  foaming  down  the  bed  of  the  tor- 
rent, bringing  trunks  of  trees,  and  even  great 
stones,  in  its  headlong  course. 

Peaky-Nose  lay  trembhng  in  his  little  house, 
listening  to  the  threatening  roar  of  the  water  on 
one  side  and  to  the  savage  snarls  of  his  deadly 
enemy  on  the  other. 

At  length,  to  his  hoiTor,  he  saw  a  tiny 
stream  trickling  across  the  floor.  He  knew 
then  his  last  hour  had  come.  A  hole,  how- 
ever small,  was  fatal  to  the  safety  of  the  entire 
building. 

His  forebodings  were  but  too  well  founded. 
The  stream  grew  rapidly  broader  and  stronger, 


and  a  very  few  minutes  after  the  first  drop  had 
entered  the  walls  tottered — ^feU,  and  there  was 
130or  piggy  half-buried  under  the  ruins,  and  at 
the  mercy  of  the  cruel  fox. 

Peaky-Nose  was  so  bruised  and  in  such  pain 
that  he  could  make  no  struggle.  He  saw  his 
enemy  preparing  to  dart  upon  him,  and  could 
make  no  effort  to  escape.  He  could  only  utter 
the  most  ear-jjiercing  cries  that  ever  came  out  of 
the  throat  of  a  pig,  and  we  all  know  what  pigs 
can  do  in  this  way. 

The  fox  opened  his  mouth  ;  his  sharp,  white 
teeth,  gleamed  in  the  moonlight.  But  at  that 
moment,  whirling  and  foaming  do\\ai  the  river, 
came  a  great  wave,  bearing  in  its  headlong 
course  a  great  mass  of  wood. 

A  projecting  piece  caught  our  little  friend. 
In  a  second  he  was  carried  away  by  the  resistless 
torrent,  throA^^l  against  the  stones,  half- choked 
by  the  water,  but  still  shrieking  lustily. 

Happily  for  liim,  the  stream  ran  beneath  the 
bank  on  which  Curly-Tail  had  built  his  secure 
home ;  and  the  o^iaier,  recognising  at  once  the 
voice  of  his  beloved  brother,  hastened  to  the  door 
to  see  what  could  be  the  matter. 

To  seize  Peaky-Nose  and  drag  him  up  the 
bank  was  the  work  of  a  moment,  but  barely 
had  they  time  to  hurry  into  the  house,  shut 
and  bar  the  door,  before  their  enemy  was  upon 
them. 

At  first,  the  fox  had  been  struck  with  as- 
tonishment at  seeing  his  supper  thus  torn,  as  it 
were,  out  of  his  mouth ;  but  he  did  not  long 
remain  inactive,  and  speedily  galloping  after  his 
prey,  arrived  at  the  stone  house  just  in  time  to 
see  the  door  shut. 

In  vain  he  raged  and  stormed ;  hunger  and 
disappointment  having  made  him  quite  mad 
with  anger. 

He  tore  at  the  walls,  yelping,  barking,  and 
snarling,  until  the  poor  little  pigs  within  were 
almost  dead  with  terror.  At  length,  wearied 
with  so  many  useless  efforts,  he  slowly  dejDarted, 
growling  viciously  to  himself,  and  threatening 
cruel  ■  vengeance  against  the  pigs  as  soon  as  he 
should  get  at  them. 

How   much   the  little   ones  mshed  the   old 
mother  had  been  with  them  in  such  an  emer- 
gency !     However,   as  wishing  was  of  no  use, 
they  must  do  the  best  they  could  for  themselves. 
(Concluded  in  oxir  next.) 


172 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


HOW    SOME   PEOPLE    TRAVEL. 

EUEOPE. 

^  _-"  -'  ■  A  LL    our  readers  laiow  how  we  travel  in  England,. 

XJl.  where  we  have  our  choice  of  carriages  of  every 
description,  from  the  tramcar,  holding  its  twenty  or 
thirty  full-grovra  passengers,  down  to  the  goat's  chaise 
— which  we  can  use  if  we  like,  and  are  small  enough. 
But  all  countries  have  not  these  advantages,  and  in 
many  the  people  are  wont  to  get  about  in  a  very  remark- 
able manner. 

In  the  colder  parts  of  Europe,  as  in  Russia,  where 
there  is  plenty  of  snow  nearly  all  the  year  round,  the 
inhabitants  are  of  necessity  compelled  to  do  part  of 
their  travelling  in  sledges,  as  the  snow  would  cling 
to  any  wheeled  vehicles  and  make  the  work  for  the 
horses  very  hard  indeed,  if  it  did  not  altogether  stop 
their  progress. 

So  we  have  here  a  party  of  Russians  travelling 
after  this  fashion.  With  three  good  horses  har- 
nessed to  the  sledge  they  glide  noiselessly  along  as 
far  as  their  carriage  is  concerned,  though  the  air 
resounds  with  the  cries  of  the  driver,  the  cracking 
of  his  whip,  and  the  jingling  of  the  hells  attached  to 
the  harness. 

Sledge-driving  is  a  most  enjoyable  way  of  getting 
about  under  favourable  circumstances,  but  it  is  not 
so  pleasant  when  the  distant  howl  of  the  hungiy 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


173 


— or,  rather,  the  trees  are 
so  scrubby  that  they  are 
scarcely  worth  mentioning. 
This  country  is  called  '  Les 
Landes,'  and  here  roam 
great  herds  of  sheep. 

The  district  is  full  of 
ditches,  and  partly  for  this 
reason  and  partly  because 
of  its  flatness,  the  peasants 
walk  about  on  great  stilts, 
aided  by  which  it  is  said 
they  can  travel  as  fast  as 
a  horse,  and  being  raised 
so  high  they  can,  of  course, 
overlook    a    much    larger 


wolves  is  heard  upon  the  wind ;  and  it  becomes 
very  terrible  as  the  howl  grows  louder  and  louder, 
and  the  unforttmate  occupants  of  the  sledge  have 
to  use  their  firearms  against  the  pack,  and  some- 
times sacrifice  even  some  of  the  horses  to  the  fierce 
creatures.  Occasionally  a  sledge  party  is  overcome 
by  the  wolves,  and  next  day  a  heap  of  bones  and  a 
torn  and  dismantled  sledge  mark  the  spot  where 
the  last  terrible  fight  for  life  was  made. 

Very  touching  are  the  stories  of  self-sacrifice 
that  come  to  us  from  these  Russian  plains,  of  those 
who  gave  themselves  to  the  wolves  in  order  to  save 
their  friends.  It  was  the  Lord  Jesus  who  said, 
'  Greater  love  hath  no  man  than  this,  that  he  lay 
doAATi  his  life  for  his  friend.' 

The  Laplander  is  fond  of  sledging ;  in  fact,  he  is 
obUged  to  be  fond  of  it,  for  he  can  use  no  other 
vehicle.  He  gets  on  very  well  though,  with  his 
swift  reindeer  harnessed  to  his  carriage,  the  reins 
tied  each  around  one  horn,  instead  of  a  bit  being 
used,  as  is  the  case  where  a  horse  is  concerned. 

The  reindeer  serves  him  in  every  way  as  a  horse, 
and  in  fact  is  even  more  useful.  For  it  draws  his 
sledge  in  life,  and  after  death  its  skin  makes  a 
wai'm  covering  for  the  sledge  or  a  coat  for  the 
owner's  back,  and  boots  for  his  feet,  whilst  its  horns 
are  put  to  a  variety  of  uses,  and  its  sinews  serve 
him  in  the  place  of  thread  and  string.  Its  flesh, 
too,  is  very  acceptable  to  the  Laplander,  whose 
keen  appetite  is  made  keener  stiU  by  the  sharp 
winds  which  are  constantly  blowing. 

In  the  south-west  comer  of  France  there  is  a 
very  curious  cormtry.     It  is  flat  and  almost  treeless 


174 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


portion  of  tlie  land.  Tlie  aheplierd  in  these  dis- 
tricts can'ies  a  long  crutch.  When  he  wslies  to 
stand  still,  he  places  this  under  one  arm,  draws 
his  stocking  and  needles  from  his  helt,  and  goes 
on  Icnitting  as  calmly  as  if  he  were  on  the 
groimd  instead  of  being  five  or  six  feet  ahove  it. 
In  strong  contrast  with  this  is  the  gaily- 
dressed  Spaniard  with  his  sister,  or,  perhaps,  his 
wife,  seated  behind  him  on  the  steed,  also  decked 
in   gay   costume,  on   their  way  to  one  of  the 


holiday  festivals  common  to  the  sunny  south ; 
and  stiU  more  curious  is  the  mode  of  travelling 
in  Malta,  the  island  in  the  Mediterranean  Sea, 
which,  though  in  possession  of  the  Eughsh, 
retains  many  foreign  customs  and  ways. 

There  the  people  go  about  in  extraordinary 
carriages,  which  look  like  gigs  tiying  to  spread 
themselves.  The  motion  is  said  to  be  very  like 
a  see-saw,  but  many  of  the  Maltese  gentry 
prefer  this  to  any  other  form  of  carriage. 


ONLY    A    HALFPENNY! 

{Continued  from  page  167.) 


Sam  was  now   attached  to 
Mr.  Massey's  boat,  he  be- 
came    general     messenger 
between  the  yacht  and  the 
shore.    He  was  a  favourite 
with  the  men,  too,  who  on 
spare  days  might  be  seen 
teaching  him  how  to  knot  and 
splice  a  rope,  bend  on  a  sail,  and 
do  the    thousand-and-one  things 
that  a  sailor  oiTght  to  have  at  Hs 
fingers'  ends. 

At  the  end  of  each  yachting 
season  Mr.  Massey  and  his  family  left  Eyde  for 
their  country  home,  Melton  Hall,  iu  Somerset- 
shire, and  the  Gazelle  was  laid  up  for  the 
winter.  Sam  had  proved  his  mettle,  and  so 
pleased  his  employer  and  benefactor  that  Mr. 
Massey  determined  to  take  him  -nitli  them ; 
and  accordingly  aiTangements  were  made  that 


Chapman  the  butler  should  have  Sam  with  him, 
and  teach  him  as  much  as  possible  of  the  duties 
of  the  pantry. 

This  was  just  what  Sam  most  wished,  and  he 
looked  forward  with  the  greatest  pleasure  to  the 
country  hfe  before  him,  and  especially  as  he 
would  not  be  separated  from  the  family,  to 
whom  he  had  become  attached. 

It  must  be  remembered  that  a  life  on  board 
ship,  even  on  a  yacht,  throws  servants  and  their 
masters  much  more  together  than  life  on  land, 
and  so  Sam  and  Mr.  Massey's  children  had  seen 
a  great  deal  of  each  other. 

The  little  ones  hked  Sam  because  he  always 
did  everything  they  asked  him,  and  the  elders, 
because  he  was  respectful  and  attentive,  and  yet 
always  willing  to  be  taught  any  lesson,  and  to 
have  his  deficiencies  and  en'ors  explained  to  him. 

Sea  View,  the  house  that  Mr.  Massey  had 
taken   at   Eyde   for  four  months,   stood  some 


SuNDA  Y  Reading  for  the  Young. 


175 


distance  back  from  the  sea,  but  overlooking  it — 
a  nice  situation,  bnt,  like  all  snob  bouses,  finished 
rather  as  if  for  letting  to  visitors  for  the  season, 
than  to  a  permanent  resident. 

The  children  occupied  the  upper  rooms  with 
the  two  nurses,  and  the  rest  of  the  family  and 
visitors  the  bedrooms  on  the  first  floor. 

The  evening  of  the  last  day  of  their  stay  bad 
come — like  all  last  days  it  had  been  a  busy 
one ;  there  bad  been  the  luggage  to  clear  from 
the  yacht,  the  packing  up  at  the  house,  and 
for  Mr.  Massey  more  important  matters  to 
attend  to,  so  that  the  children  were  all  in  bed 
before  the  family  dinner  was  served ;  and  Sam 
was  on  his  way  with  the  last  load  of  trunks  that 
were  to  come  from  the  Gazelle.  The  head- 
nurse  had  gone  out  for  Mrs.  Massey  to  pay 
some  bills,  and  Mary  the  mider-nurse,  having 
seen  the  little  ones  safe  in  bed,  was  down  in  the 
kitchen  speaking  to  cook,  who  was  not  going 
with  them  on  the  morrow. 

It  seemed  curious  to  Sam,  as  he  toiled  up  the 
steep  bill  with  the  two  men  and  their  load  of 
luggage,  that  there  should  be  such  a  gleam  of 
light  from  behind  the  house — the  front  of  Sea 
View,  straight  before  them,  was  iu  darkness,  but 
behind  it  appeared  to  be  lighted  up  in  a 
mysterious  way.  Suddenly,  Sam  thought  he  saw 
a  drift  of  smoke  ;  his  heart  almost  stood  still ; 
could  it  be  iire  ?  The  dread  almost  took  from  liim 
the  power  to  move — only  for  a  moment,  how- 
ever. Then  he  called  to  the  men  to  make  haste  to 
the  house,  that  they  would  be  wanted,  and  ran 
on  as  fast  as  he  could  through  the  front  gates, 
and  round  to  the  back. 

It  was  but  a  hundred  yards,  yet  it  appeared 
to  him  as  if  he  bad  been  a  week  running  the 
distance,  when,  as  he  reached  the  back-yard,  be 
saw  a  volume  of  smoke  rolling  from  an  upper 
window,  and  at  the  same  moment  a  woman 
screamed  '  Fire ! '  from  the  back  of  the  bouse 
opposite. 

'  Fire  I  fire  1'  shouted  Sam  with  all  his  might, 
and  the  cry  was  taken  up,  and  echoed  again  and 
again. 

The  alarm  was  given. 

The  lad's  hesitancy  was  gone  now,  he  rushed 
through  the  outer  door  and  up  into  the  front 
ball,  nearly  upset  Chapman  as  he  was  coming 
out  of  the  dining-room  with  a  dish  in  his  hand, 
and  burst  upon  the  startled  party  seated  at  the 


dinner-table  '  Please,  sir,  the  house  is  in  flames  I 
I  saw  the  reflection  coming  up  the  hill,  and  all 
the  upper  rooms  will  be  a-blaze  by  this  time.' 

There  was  a  cry  of  agony  from  all — '  The 
children.  May,  Ethel,  Wilfred!' 

Before  that  cry  had  reached  his  ear  Sam  was 
half  way  up  the  stairs,  and  before  Mr.  Massey 
and  bis  elder  children  could  collect  their  senses 
he  was  coming  down  with  Wilfred  and  Baby 
May,  one  in  each  arm.  Chapman  was  by  this 
time  rushing  up,  followed  by  Mr.  Massey  :  the 
alarm  bad  reached  the  whole  house. 

'Take  these,  Chapman,  no  time  to  lose;  I  know 
where  Miss  Ethel  is,  I  can  reach  her.'  And  he 
almost  dropped  the  two  children  into  Chapman's 
arms,  and  turned  back  again  on  the  stairs,  which 
were  fast  filling  with  stifling  smoke. 

Mr.  Massey  assisted  the  butler  with  the  little 
ones,  who  appeared  too  terrified,  or  rather  too 
nearly  suffocated,  to  scream,  and  they  were  soon 
in  safety ;  then  he  ran  back  to  aid  Sam  in  his 
rescue  of  the  other  little  girl. 

The  firemen  were  arriving,  the  servants  in  the 
lower  part  of  the  house  crying  and  wringing 
their  hands  ;  all  confusion  and  distress  ;  and  as 
Mr.  Massey  entered,  be  saw  by  the  anxious  faces 
that  Sam  bad  failed  to  return.  '  Give  me  a 
blanket,  a  table-cloth — anything;'  he  cried,  and 
while  he  spoke  some  one  tore  the  woollen  cover 
from  a  table,  which  he  wrapped  closely  round 
his  face  and  mouth,  and  ran  quickly  up  the  stairs. 
It  was  a  deadly  peril,  but  then  there  were  two 
lives  in  the  balance — his  own  little  child,  to  say 
nothing  of  the  brave  deliverer  of  his  other  two. 

Could  it  be  that  God  would  allow  them  to 
perish  ? 

A  half-smothered  prayer  escaped  his  lips  as 
he  cleared  the  stairs  two  at  a  time,  and  tried  to 
reach  the  top  landing.  Twice  did  be  strive  to 
pierce  the  dense  volume  of  smoke  which  now 
rolled  through  the  doorway  in  a  thick  mass, 
twice  was  he  driven  back.  With  a  desperate 
effort  and  a  long  breath  be  made  a  third  attempt, 
and  got  through  the  doorway,  with  eyes  shut 
and  held  breath,  only  to  stumble  and  almost  fall 
over  what  he  knew  to  be  the  Iboy.  It  was  a 
desperate  moment,  bnt  that  moment  a  draught  of 
air  hfted  back  the  cloud  of  smoke,  and  he  saw  a 
little  form  lying  on  the  floor  with  Sam's  fingers 
tightly  clutched  round  its  arm. 

[Concluded  in  our  next. ) 


176 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


A  Desperate  Moment. 


SuADAY  Reading  for  the  Young. 


177 


Just  in  Time, 


A  A 


178 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


lifted 
carry 
dragged 


ONLY   A   HALFPENNY! 

(Concluded  from  page  175.) 

SHO  cnn  tell  tlie  father's  agony 
at  that  moment  I  It  seemed 
death  to  the  three  ;  but  a 
father's  love  is  strong,  and 
in  that  strength  Mr.  Massey 
his  child  from  the  floor,  and  nnable  to 
both,  grasi:)ed  Sam's  collar  tight  and 
them  both  towards  the  free  air  and 
open  staircase.  He  reached  the  head  of  the 
stairs  in  safety,  then  the  firemen  met  him,  and 
with  their  aid  all  reached  the  open  air,  where 
A'^'ilhng  hands  used  every  endeavour  that  medical 
skill  could  devise  to  bring  the  breath  of  hfe  once 
more  into  action. 

It  was  long  before  they  succeeded  in  recovering 
little  Ethel  and  the  brave  Sam  to  consciousness. 
The  other  two  children  were  more  frightened 
than  hurt — they  had  been  rescued  before  any 
injmy  was  done ;  but  at  these  two,  even  when 
they  did  once  again  open  their  eyes,  the  doctor's 
face  looked  very  grave  indeed.  '  They  must 
have  the  utmost  care,'  he  whispered  to  Mr. 
Massey ;  '  both  bad  cases.  Let  us  get  them  to 
bed  as  cj[uick  as  may  be.'  And  a  kindly  neigh- 
bour at  once  offered  his  house  to  Mr.  Massey, 
an  offer  accepted  for  the  two  sufferers  in  the 
spirit  in  which  it  w^as  made. 

For  many  hours  the  fire  raged,  and  next 
morning,  wlien  the  traveUers  were  to  have  been 
starting,  their  late  home  was  a  heap  of  smoulder- 
ing embers  within  four  gaunt  walls;  all  their 
belongings  were  ashes,  Mrs.  Massey  was  prostrate 
with  the  shock,  and  Ethel  and  Sam  in  a  very 
critical  state. 

Money  may  do  much,  but  it  cannot  bring 
freedom  from  danger,  and  though  to  Mr.  Massey 
his  loss  was  trifhng  as  far  as  the  cost  of  what 
was  burnt  went,  the  danger  in  which  Sam  and 
his  little  one  were  caused  him  the  gravest 
anxiety. 

He  was  a  good  man,  a  man  who  really  loved 
God,  and  so  he  was  not  afraid  to  take  his  gi-ief 
to  Him  and  ask  for  comfort,  and  comfort  came. 
The  sufferers  got  better,  by  very  slow  degrees  it 
is  true,  but  they  recovered,  and  though  for  many 
months  under  the  doctor's  care,  the  ill-effects  of 
that  dreadful  night  at  length  wore  off. 

As  soon  as  possible  the  whole  family  moved 


to  Melton  Hall,  and  change  of  air  did  much  for 
them  all. 

But  what  of  Sam?  How  did  he  bear  himself 
amid  all  tlie  praises  showered  upon  him  as  soon 
as  he  could  bear  the  excitement  ? 

Every  one  was  ready  to  shal^e  him  by  the 
hand  I  But  there  was  one  scene  between  Mr. 
Massey  and  his  '  lad,"  as  he  called  Sam  now,  over 
which  a  curtain  of  silence  must  be  drawn ;  it  was 
in  the  hbrary  at  Melton  some  weeks  after  the 
family  had  been  settled  in  there,  and  though 
neither  Mr.  Massey,  nor  Sam  himself,  ever  spoke 
of  what  had  passed,  or  alluded  to  that  interview, 
it  is  certain  it  was  one  of  gratitude  on  both  sides 
— gi-atitude  outspoken,  and  aclmowledged — and 
that  an  understanding  and  a  confidence  henceforth 
existed  between  them  which  is  rare  in  real  life, 
though  real  life  abounds  with  stranger  things 
than  fiction. 

A  year  passed  by,  and  the  crossing-boy  is 
again  with  the  banker's  family  in  their  yachting 
season.  This  time  his  position  is  an  altered  one, 
he  has  been  learning  navigation  under  Mr.  Lewis, 
the  sailing-master  of  the  Gazelle.  Lewis  is  getting 
old  now,  and  looks  forward  to  retiring  to  a  snug 
little  cottage  beneath  the  hills  at  Cowes,  and 
every  one  tliinks  that  in  three  or  four  more  seasons 
Sam  is  to  be  the  sailing-master, — who  knows? 
it  may  be.  Meanwhile  he  manages  much  on 
board,  and  manages  with  dexterity  and  success. 
So  cleverly,  indeed,  that  little  ever  goes  wrong. 

He  is  a  fair  scholar  now,  can  read,  write,  and 
do  arithmetic  with  a  good  many,  and  take  an 
interest  in  deeper  studies,  while  the  curate's 
parting  gift,  his  pocket  Bible,  is  never  far  away 
from  him ;  perhaps  therein  lies  the  secret  of  his 
success,  for  Sam  has  learnt  to  '  seek  first  prin- 
ciples;' he  tries  to  do  what  is  right,  and  leave  the 
rest  to  God. 

The  curate  has  been  Mr.  Massey"s  visitor  once 
since  the  fire. 

'  You  must  come  and  stay  with  us  at  Melton 
for  a  few  days,'  the  banker  had  said.  '  I  want 
you  to  see  w"hat  sort  of  a  fellow  your  bo}^  has 
grown.  You  won't  know  him.'  And  the  curate 
went,  and  saw  with  his  ovra  eyes  to  what  Sam 
had  gi'own. 

Many  a  talk  they  had,  too ;  and  Sam  was  en- 
com'aged  to  ask  questions  on  matters  which  had 
been  puzzling  him — things  far  too  deep  for  a 
common  boy,  most  people  w'ould  have  said;  not 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


179 


too  deep  though  for  a  thinking,  earnest  soul, 
striving  first  to  know  God's  will,  and  then 
struggling  to  do  it. 

The  curate  of  St.  Mark's  was  pleased ;  he 
saw  that  God  had  blessed  -what  he  had  done, 
and  that  for  once  he  had  acted  wisely  in  his 
treatment  of  the  crossing-sweeper,  against  the 
dictates  of  common  sense  and  what  is  due  to 
societ}',  but  in  exact  keeping  with  the  instincts 
of  human  kindness,  which  teach  that  golden  rule 
of  conduct,  that  we  should  '  do  to  others  as  we 
■would  they  should  do  unto  us.'  And  it  was  '  only 
a  balfpemiy  began  it,'  though  he  knew  it  not. 

SiGNA. 

THE   THREE  LITTLE  PIGS. 

{Coitcluded  from  page  171.) 

PEAKY-NOSE'S  narrow  escaiDe,  and  the 
pain  which  he  was  suffering,  had  quite 
broken  down  his  courage.  He  lay  on  the  floor 
trembUng  and  silent,  and  for  the  first  time  in  his 
life  was  ready  to  take  advice. 

Curly-Tail  brought  all  the  power  of  his  sen- 
sible little  brain  to  consider  what  was  to  be  done. 

'  I  tell  you  what  it  is,'  said  he,  wrinkling  up 
his  small  nose  in  a  series  of  anxious  puckers, 
'thanks  to  our  good  mother,  the  door  and  win- 
dows of  this  house  are  so  strong  that  the  fox 
might  beat  against  them  for  years  without  being 
able  to  break  them  open ;  but  I  am  sure  I  heard 
him  mutter  something  about  a  ladder,  and  I  am 
Tery  much  afraid  he  means  to  try  to  get  in  by 
the  chimney.  I  have  a  big  j>ot  here,  supjDose 
we  make  a  fire  and  set  the  pot  on  it  full  of 
water?  The  smoke  and  the  boiling  water  -will 
so  frighten  him  that  he  will  not  dare  venture 
down.' 

This  was  an  excellent  plan,  but,  unfortunately, 
it  could  not  be  carried  out,  for  when  the  pot 
came  to  be  examined  it  was  found  that  there 
was  a  hole  in  the  side,  so  that  the  water  ran  out 
as  fast  as  it  was  poured  in. 

There  was  nothing  to  be  done  but  to  get  a  new 
pot.      But  this  was  a  service  of  great  danger. 

Curly-Tail,  though  he  had  a  very  little  body, 
had  not  only  a  great  deal  of  sense  but  a  great 
deal  of  courage,  so  he  bravely  said,  '  The  fair  is 
still  going  on  in  the  village  at  the  top  of  the 
hUl.  I  will  go  there  early  to-morrow  morning 
and  get  a  new  pot.     But  while   I   am   away. 


Peaky-Nose,  keep  a  good  watch.  I  must  start 
at  dawn,  for  it  is  a  long  way  to  go,  and  I  do 
not  wish  to  be  out  after  nightfall.  So  good 
night,  brother,  for  I  must  go  to  sleep  now.' 

Curly -Tail  here  crept  amongst  the  straw, 
and  was  soon  sleeping  the  happy  sleep  of  all 
good  little  pigs. 

The  sun  had  scarcely  risen  ere  the  courageous 
fellow  set  forth  on  his  hazardous  expedition. 
He  trotted  along  as  fast  as  his  four  short  legs 
could  carry  him,  keeping  steadily  to  the  path  for 
fear  of  being  tempted  to  delay. 

Even  some  inviting  truffle-mounds  could  not 
beguile  him,  though  the  keen  morning  air  had 
given  him  an  appetite,  and  he  knew  how  good 
and  crisp  they  were.  His  safety  depended  upon 
his  being  able  to  get  home  before  nightfall. 

He  arrived  at  the  fair,  and  bought  a  nice 
large  pot  with  a  stout  cover.  Then,  dragging 
his  purchase  behind  him,  he  started  on  his 
journey  home. 

Curly -Tail  set  off  very  quickly,  but  soon 
found  he  had  overrated  his  strength.  It  '^vaa 
exceedingly  hard  work,  and  before  half  the  toil- 
some way  was  accomplished  he  perceived  by  the 
lengthening  shadows  that  the  day  was  nearly 
spent.  Alas,  for  poor  piggy  1  By  the  time  he 
had  arrived  at  the  borders  of  the  forest  the  sun 
was  sinking  behind  the  trees.  Great  streaks  of 
crimson  and  gold  illumined  the  sky.  The  hills- 
were  bathed  in  a  flood  of  light,  and  the  last 
bright  rays  gave  a  ruddy  glow  to  the  upper 
branches  of  the  trees. 

But  the  glorious  radiance  above  only  made 
the  gloom  of  the  great  wood  still  more  weird 
and  terrible  to  the  poor  traveller.  He  knew 
that  amongst  those  deep  dark  shadows  lurked 
danger,  and  perhaps  death  for  iiim. 

Before  going  down  into  the  wood  he  paused 
for  a  few  minutes,  doubtful  whether  it  would 
not  be  wiser  to  turn  back.  But  the  village  was 
now  at  some  distance.  The  fox  had  probably 
by  this  time  left  his  lair,  and  he  prudently  re- 
flected that  such  a  course  would  only  involve  loss 
of  time  and  increased  danger. 

So  he  toiled  on  resolutely,  trundling  his 
heavy  burden  as  noiselessly  as  he  could  manage, 
and  casting  wary  looks  on  every  side. 

It  was  now  very  nearly  dark ;  but  he  knew 
he  was  not  far  from  the  edge  of  the  steep  hill, 
below  which  lay  his  snug  home. 


180 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


Pursued. 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


181 


AN    OUTLINE    TEXT    TO    COLOUR. 


182 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


At  last  lie  thoiiglit  he  could  smell  the  smoke 
of  the  fire  that  Peaky-Nose  was  so  carefulh'  to 
keep  burning  ;  and  then,  0  joy  1  he  saw  a  tiny 
speck  of  light  that  could  only  come  through  his 
own  little  window. 

Piggy's  heart  bounded  within  him  with  de- 
light. He  felt  himself  safe,  and  was  on  the 
point  of  uttering  an  affectionate  squeak,  in  order 
to  announce  to  his  brother  that  he  was  ap- 
proaching, wlien  his  quick  ear  detected  a  faint 
rustle  amongst  the  bushes  behind  him,  and  then 
the  snap  of  a  dry,  broken  twig. 

He  turned  Cjuickly,  and  even  through  the 
darkness  coidd  see  amongst  the  leaves  a  pair  of 
cruel  bright  eyes. 

Even  in  so  terrible  a  moment  Curly-Tail  re- 
tained his  presence  of  mind,  and  his  courage 
did  not  desert  him.  Exerting  all  his  remaining 
strength  he  rushed  madly  forward,  uttering  at 
the  same  time,  mth  a  true  pig's  instinct,  the 
most  piercing  and  heart-rending  shrieks. 

The  yells  startled  every  night-bird  in  the 
neighbourhood,  bats  flew  wildly  round,  the  owls 
hooted,  the  night-jars  added  their  discordant 
voices  to  the  din,  but  little  cared  the  fox.  He 
galloped  on,  feeling  sure  of  his  prey,  and  giving 
every  now  and  then  a  savage  yelp,  as  he 
thought  how  he  would  tear  and  rend  poor  little 
piggy,  and  what  an  excellent  supjxjr  he  would 
afterwards  make. 

So  unequal  a  race  could  not  last  long.  In  a 
very  few  seconds  the  unhappy  Curly-Tail  found 
himself  completely  exhausted.  Panting  and 
breathless  he  could  neither  run  nor  scream  any 
longer.  He  stopped,  but  the  pot  seemed  still 
inclined  to  roll  on. 

Suddenly,  a  brilliant  idea  flashed  through 
Curly -Tail's  brain.  No  sooner  thought  of  than 
executed.  In  an  instant  he  had  jumiDed  into 
the  pot,  prflled  close  the  lid,  and  downi  the  pot 
went,  dancing  from  side  to  side  of  the  ravine. 
Bumijing  and  tumbling  it  was  thrown  from  rock 
to  rock,  but  always  going  down  faster  than  the 
fox  cordd  follow. 

Peaky-Nose,  aware  by  the  noise  that  im- 
minent danger  threatened,  was  watching  with 
eager  anxiety. 

Scarcely  had  the  pot  thumped  against  the 
door,  than  it  was  quickly  but  cautiously  opened, 
and  in  rolled  Curly-Tail  in  her  singular  con- 
veyance. 


The  rage  of  the  fox,  when  he,  the  craftiest  of 
animals,  found  himself  thus  outwitted  by  a  small 
pig,  may  be  well  imagined.  Not  only  did  he 
bite  at  the  stones,  but  he  bit  his  own  legs  in  his 
mad  fury.  Finding,  however,  that  he  only  hurt 
himself  and  not  the  pigs,  he  prepared  to  scale 
the  roof. 

After  many  desperate  efforts  and  painful 
struggles,  he  at  length  arrived  there,  and  com- 
menced throwing  volleys  of  stones  down  the 
chimney  in  order  to  put  out  the  fire.  These, 
however,  did  little  harm,  as  they  fell  into  the' 
pot.  Finding  this  attack  of  no  avail,  he  then 
tore  off  small  branches  and  leaves  from  the  trees 
close  by,  and  cast  them  down  also,  in  hopes  of 
thus  extinguishing  the  flames. 

This  might  be  very  cunning,  but,  like  most 
cunning,  it  was  a  very  unwise  proceeding ; 
for  the  wood  and  leaves  being  damp,  such  a. 
cloud  of  thick  smoke  and  steam  came  up  the 
chimney  that  the  fox,  who  was  peeping  do-\Air  it 
to  ascertain  the  result  of  his  stratagem,  was  not 
only  blinded,  but  was  also  half-suffocated  by  the- 
hot  vapour. 

His  head  turned  dizzy,  he  lost  his  balance, 
tottered,  and  slipped  down  the  roof,  grasping 
frantically  at  each  stone  as  he  fell.  Then  rolling 
over  the  side  of  the  house,  and  down  the  steep^ 
bank,  he  pitched  head  foremost  into  the  river^ 
and  its  rapid  current  bore  him  swiftly  away. 

Perhaj)s  he  was  drowned,  perhaps  he  reached 
another  country.  At  any  rate  he  never  showed 
himself  in  the  forest  again.  The  two  little  pigs- 
lived  ever  after  very  happily.  A.  S.  H. 


MIXED     PICKLES. 

(Continues,  from  page  16G.) 
CHAPTER  XII. SOME  USE  FOE  MOLL. 

^  LAT  on  j'our  face,  and  a  raging  bull 
coming  after  you  1  That  is  a  terrible 
position  I  It  is  never  wise  to  run 
races  with  a  bull,  or  a  horse,  or  ai 
greyhound,  or  anything  else  that  has 
four  legs — except,  perhaps,  a  very  fat 

prize  pig,  or  the  kitchen  table.     What  can  you, 

with  two  legs,  do  against  four  legs  ? 

Besides,  poor  Bryda  felt  that  there  was  no  one 

to  help  her ;  there  was  only  iMoll  Dawson  near, 

of  whom  she  was  nearlv  as  much  afraid  as  she 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


183 


Avas  of  tlie  bull ;  and  poor  little  helpless  Beppo, 
whose  eyes  grew,  like  those  of  the  dog  iii  the 
fairy  tale,  as  big  as  saucers  mth  terror  ,as  he 
«tood,  panting  but  safe,  on  the  right  side  of  the 
gate. 

Stay  1  there  was  one  Friend,  to  whom  Bryda 
had  long  ago  learnt  at  her  mother's  knee  to  look 
for  help.  She  had,  indeed,  never  been  in  any 
-such  danger  before,  but  mother  liad,  and  many 
a  time  she  had  told  Bryda  of  the  time  of  peril 
when  the  ship  was  said  to  be  about  to  go  down 
•on  the  broad  Atlantic,  and  no  help  was  near, 
— no  human  help,  at  least.  And  the  chaplain 
gathered  together  all  who  could  or  would  come, 
and  cried  to  Him  Who  holds  the  seas  in  the 
hollow  of  His  hand. 

'  In  the  midst  of  life  we  are  in  death :  of 
whom  may  we  seek  for  succour,  but  of  Thee,  0 
Lord  ?  .  .  .  Thou  knowest.  Lord,  the  secrets  of 
our  hearts  ;  shut  not  Thy  merciful  ears  unto  our 
prayer ;  but  spare  us,  Lord  most  holy,  O  God 
most  mighty,  0  lioly  and  merciful  Saviour  1 ' 

So  the  chaplaia  prayed,  and  the  sea  went 
•down,  as  once  did  the  waves  of  GaHlee  when  the 
Lord  of  winds  and  waves  wiled  it,  and  mother 
•and  all  the  ship-load  were  saved.  And  so 
Bryda  cried  to  the  loving  Saviour  as  she  fell, 
and  to  her,  too,  came  help  in  the  way  she  least 
expected.  For  as  the  bull  with  angry  red  eyes 
and  dreadful  sharp  horns  had  nearly  reached 
her,  when  all  hope  seemed  gone,  and  she  had 
not  strength  to  try  and  rise,  a  shawl  deftly 
ithrown  fell  right  over  the  furious  animal's  heacl, 
maldng  liim  stop  and  then  turu  round,  bellowing 
frantically,  as  if  he  meant  to  ask  who  dared  to 
interfere  in  this  way  with  his  great  will  and 
pleasure,  which  was  to  toss  an  insignificant 
child.  There  were  plenty  of  children  in  the 
world,  pray  why  should  he  not  toss  one  if  he  so 
pleased  ?  he  seemed  to  ask. 

While  his  majesty  was  expressing  something 
of  this  sort  very  noisilj',  a  strong  hand  rather 
roughly  seized  the  fallen  Bryda,  picked  her  up, 
and  dragged  her  over  or  through — she  never 
Imew  which — the  great,  strong,  five-barred  gate, 
where  Beppo  stood  already,  and  watched,  white 
with  terror,  having  had  time  to  take  breath. 
Jjryda  was  not  white,  she  was  red-hot  and 
breathless,  and  it  was  several  seconds  before  she 
could  collect  her  scattered  wits  enough  to  see 
the   buU  tearing  the  shawl  to   pieces,  with   a 


strong  wall  and  gate  between  himself  and  her, 
and  also  to  see  that  her  preserver  was  no  other 
than  that  great  object  of  her  terror,  Moll 
Dawson. 

'  Now  then,'  said  J\Ioll,  roughly,  as  she  tried 
to  pinch  Bryda's  liat  into  shape  again.  '  You're 
a  foolish  one,  you  are.  Why  didn't  you  stop 
when  you  heard  me  screechin'  ?' 

'Because — I — because — '  stammered  Bryda, 
who  felt  she  could  not  tell  Moll  that  the 
'  screechin' '  had  made  her  run  as  fast  as  pos- 
sible in  the  other  direction  from  that  MoU 
intended. 

The  girl  burst  into  a  loud  laugh.  '  You're  a 
softy,  upon  my  word  1  So  you  thought  I'd  eat 
yer  blackberries  and  yer  blessed  selves  arter 
them  !  But  it  was  out  of  the  fry  in' -pan  into  the 
fire  this  time,  and  no  mistake.  Oh,  I  see  ye 
blushing  !  Tell  Moll  Dawson  no  stories ;  she's 
too  'cute  for  the  likes  o'  you.' 

'  I  don't  want  to  teU  stories,'  said  poor  Bryda, 
with  tears  in  her  eyes.  '  Indeed,  indeed  I  am 
grateful.  That  bull  would  have  torn  me  to 
pieces,  as  he  is  tearing  your  shawl.' 

And  Bryda  turned  quite  sick  at  the  sight  of 
the  great  brute  stamping  on  fragments  of  the 
shawl,  then  tearing  them  afresh  with  his  horns, 
bellowing  all  the  time  as  if  it  was  quite  an 
amusement  to  destroy  something. 

'  I  shall  ask  grannie  to  give  me  a  new  shawl 
for  you,  Moll,'  said  Bryda. 

'  Don't  trouble  your  head,  child  ;  it's  only  a 
'old  rag,  bless  you.  So  soon  as  I  can  earn  a  bit 
o'  money  I'll  have  a  jacket  wi'  beads  all  over 
like  a  young  lady.  Not  as  that  they'll  takeme 
for  a  lady — not  even  the  boys  at  the  factory. 
Give  me  that  pretty  blue  silk  handkerchief  on. 
your  neck,'  went  on  Moll,  with  a  sudden  change 
of  tone.  This  was  a  command  rather  than  a 
request,  to  judge  by  the  tone  in  which  it  was 
spoken ;  but  Bryda  hesitated  a  little — mother 
had  given  it  to  her  just  before  she  Avent  away. 

The  girl,  seeing  she  hesitated,  laughed  again 
loud  and  bitterly — a  laugh  without  merriment. 

'  Oh  I  keep  your  things  to  yourself  I  I  want 
none  of  them  I  Silk  handkerchiefs  are  not  for 
the  likes  of  me,  nor  nothin'  else  that's  good — 
only  sharp  words  and  crooked  looks.'  Here 
Moll  threw  herself  down  on  the  nearest  bank, 
and  tore  some  white  queen- daises  to  bits. 
{J!o  1/e  continued.) 


184 


Sunday  Reading  i-or  the  Young. 


THE  FOUR  SWEET  MONTHS 


"[JIIKST  April — she,  with  mellow 

showers, 
Opens  the  way  for  early  flowers ; 

Then  after  her  comes  smihng  May, 
In  a  more  rich  and  sweet  array. 


"Next  enters  June,  and  hrings  us  more 
Gems  than  those  two  that  went  before ; 

Then  lastly  July  comes,  and  she 

Moie  wealth  hrings  ia  than  all  those  tliree. 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


185 


SuNDA  Y  Reading  for  the  Young. 


JACK    TAR'S    MATCH. 


YOUNG  fellow,  only  a 
mecliaiiic,  tut  a  steady 
and  reapeetatle  cha- 
racter, who  was  a 
passenger  on  hoai'd  a 
vessel  on  her  outward 
voyage,  was  shocked 
by  the  constant  use 
of  bad  language  a- 
mongst  the  crew;  and 
at  the  breakfast-table 
he  approached  the 
subject  with  great 
-care  and  judgment,  and  apipealed  to  the  cajatain 
for  j)ermission  to  try  to  put  an  end  to  the  pro- 
fanity of  the  sailors,  and  in  doing  this  with  tact 
he  took  the  best  means  to  reprove  the  captain  for 
his  own  sin  in  this  matter. 

Immediately  he  went  on  deck,  after  breakfast, 
and  saw  one  of  the  oldest  and  most  profane 
among  the  crew  seated  on  the  fore-deck,  en- 
joying his  pijae.  The  young  man  soon  got  him 
into  conversation,  drew  him  out,  launched  him 
on  the  story  of  his  own  life  and  adventures,  and 
lured  the  old  fellow  into  a  yarn,  after  his  own 
heart. 

Jack  is  never  averse  to  spinning  a  yarn,  and 
this  Jack  spun  his ;  from  a  boy,  he  had  lived  on 
the    sea,  he   had    seen   many    a   tempest,   had 


voyaged  among  the  Islands  of  the  Pacific  and 
the  icebergs  of  the  Northern  Seas,  had  landed 
missionaries  in  the  far-off  Eastern  Colonies,  and 
seen  the  Indians  of  the  Par  West  on  the  war- 
path in  their  savage  life.  Proud  of  his  achieve- 
ments, prouder  still  of  his  nautical  skill,  he  at 
length  boasted  that  he  could  do  anything  that 
could  be  done  by  a  sailor. 

'  I  doubt  it,'  said  his  companion. 

'  I  can,'  rephed  the  tar,  '  and  will  not  be  out- 
done :  take  my  word  for  it.' 

'  Well,  when  a  sailor  passes  his  word  he 
ought  to  be  believed.  I  know  a  sailor  who  re- 
solved to  stop  swearing,  and  he  did  so.' 

'  Ah  ! '  said  the  old  sailor,  '  now  you've 
anchored  me.     I'm  fast ;    but  I  can  do  it.' 

'  I  know  you  can,'  answered  the  passenger, 
'  and  you  can  anchor  all  your  shipmates'  oaths 
with  yours — will  you  do  it?  ' 

Not  a  word  of  profanity  was  heard,  at  any 
rate  in  public,  on  board  the  vessel  after  that; 
and  day  by  day,  as  the  earnest,  honest  passenger 
talked  to  the  sailors  one  by  one,  he  gained  the 
hearts  of  them  all,  and  although  he  was  but  a 
striphng  beside  the  giants  among  the  crew, 
Jack  was  fain  to  confess  that  he  had  met  his 
match  at  last. 

Let  aU  bad  words  be  anchored  at  the  bottom 
of  the  sea. 


EVERYBODY'S    CORIfER. 

A  ROMAN  soldier's  GEAR. 

THE  old  Romans  had  to  carry  a  very  heavy 
load  when  in  fuU  marching  trim — much 
snore  than  soldiers  now-a-days  have.  Their 
infantry  were  armed  with  breastplates  and 
lielmets ;  they  carried  a  sword  on  each  side,  that 
■on  the  left  much  longer  than  the  right,  which 
was  not  more  than  a  span  in  length. 

The  select  bodyguard  of  a  general  were 
armed  with  lances  and  bucklers,  and  the  rest  of 
the  phalanx  had  a  spear  and  shield ;  besides 
which  all  carried  a  saw,  a  spade,  and  a  hatchet, 
also  a  cord,  a  siclde,  a  chain,  and  three  days' 
provisions ;  so  that  a  Eoman  foot-soldier  was 
very  little  better  than  a  beast  of  burden  wth  his 
marching  load,  which  has  been  estimated  to 
weigh  about  90  lbs.  They  had  to  endui-e  hard- 
ness in  those  days. 


THE    HINDOO'S    HONESTY. 

A  TOUCHING  story  is  told  in  the  life  of 
an  Indian  officer,  of  the  staunch  honesty 
to  his  principles  of  a  native  soldier,  a  Hindoo  of 
high  caste. 

To  make  it  clear  to  the  little  ones,  we  must 
explain  to  them  that  the  Hindoos,  by  their 
religion,  are  divided  into  castes,  and  that  no 
one  will  have  anything  to  do  with  those  of  a 
lower  caste — it  would  be  pollution  of  the  most 
dreadful  kind;  and  thus  for  a  Brahmin  or 
Hindoo  to  drink  out  of  a  cup  with  a  European, 
or  even  to  take  water  from  the  hands  of  an  im- 
believer,  as  they  would  call  white  men,  would  be 
to  degrade  him  at  once  to  the  lowest  caste,  the 
Pariahs,  or  outcasts. 

On  one  occasion  when  a  wounded  Soobahdar 
of  one  of  the  native  regiments  was  lying 
woimded  and  nearly  dead  on  the  field  of  battle. 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


187 


one  of  tlie  European  officers  wlio  commanded 
that  day  came  upon  him,  faint  with  thirst  and 
loss  of  blood,  and  offered  him  a  drink  of  water. 

The  poor  fellow  thought,  even  in  dying,  of 
tlie  pollution,  and  said  faintly,  '  Aly  caste,  sir  I 
my  caste  I ' 

The  officer  pressed  him  to  take  some,  he  was 
suffering  so  greatly,  saj'uig,  '  We  are  alone,  no 
one  will  see  you.'  The  Soohahdar  shook  his 
head,  and  said, '  God  sees  me  I ' 

Brave  man  that  he  was,  he  would  rather  die 
than  betray  his  principles. 


TWO    LITTLE    BUDS. 

TWO  little  buds  were  opening, 
One  was  a  blossom  rare, 
Pure  were  its  dainty  petals, 
Guarded  with  loving  care. 
One  in  a  comer  blossomed, 

Where  there  were  few  beside  ; 
No  one  cared  for  the  flower, 
\Miether  it  lived  or  died. 

Two  little  hearts  were  opening, 

One  to  a  life  so  fair ; 
Joy  of  a  loving  mother. 

What  did  it  know  of  care  ? 
One  little  heart  was  lonely, 

Saddened  by  poverty, 
Hungry  for  love  and  pity, 

No  one  to  heed  its  cry. 

Two  little  white-robed  angels 

Wait  in  the  golden  land. 
Two  little  fragile  blossoms. 

Plucked  by  the  Master's  hand. 
Saved  from  a  world  of  sorrow. 

Borne  to  a  Home  above. 
Where  the  rich  and  poor  are  ever 

One  in  the  Saviour's  love. 

Marian  Isabel  Hurrell. 


CHOOSING  A  HUSBAND. 

TWO  suitors  applied  to  Themistocles  for  the 
hand  of  his  daughter  :  one  was  very  rich, 
but  a  coxcomb ;  the  other  a  sensible,  worthy 
fellow,  but  poor.  Themistocles  wisely  preferred 
the  latter,  for  he  said,  '  I  value  a  man  without 
riches  rather  than  riches  without  a  man.' 


MISED    PICKLES. 

[Continued  from  page  183.) 

I  EKE,    take    it,    Moll  I'    said' 
Bryda,   as   she   snatched   oiT 
her  handkerchief.    '  I  am  sure 
you're    welcome    to    it,    and 
1  'UTT  vfctT-suEi        anything  else  I  have;'    and 
^«,   ,i«f^^''>^   ^^'^'^  '''  geiitle   coaxing  way 
she  tied  the  scarf  round  Moll 
Dawson's  neck.     The  rough 
girl   looked    more    gracious  ;- 
slie  bent  her  neck  to  try  and 
catch  a  glimpse  of  this  bit  of 
finery,    then    looked    up    at 
Bryda  again. 
'  You've   got   a   gran,  too  I      I've   seen  her. 
Does  she  beat  you  often'?'   was  her  next  re- 
mark. 

Bryda  and  Beppo  both  stared  open-mouthed 
at  this  question.     Grandmother  would  as  soon. 

think  of 

'  Never  1'  said  Bryda  at  last,  very  decidedly. 
'  I  suppose  she's  Icind,  then  ? ' 
Bryda  nodded  expressivel}'. 
'  Well,  my  gran  ain't,'  pursued  poor   Moll.. 
'  Beats  us  with  the  poker,  for  all  she  pretended, 
to  be  so  ill  and  weak  when  you  brought  soup  o' 
Sunday,  missy.    We're  a  bad  lot,  we  are,  all  but 
father ;  he'd  be  good  if  he  could,  I  know.' 

'  Oh,  Moll  I '  said  Bryda,  answering  the  girl's 
miserable  tone  as  much  as  her  words, '  why  don't 
you  try  and  be  good '? ' 

'  I  suppose  you're  good  ?'  said  the  girl ;  '  it  is 
not  hard  for  such  as  you  to  keep  straight.' 

'  Indeed,  I'm  not  good,'  cried  truthful  Bryda,. 
remembering  a  great  many  faults  at  once.  'I'm 
so  often  in  mischief  or  some  trouble  that  Uncle 
Jack  says  I  live  in  a  jar  of  mixed  pickles.  But 
I  do  want  to  be  good  for  all  that.' 

'  So  you  will  some  day,  when  you're  a  fine- 
lady.  And,  I  warrant,  you're  not  real  bad  now. 
And  you'd  not  be  frightened  of  me  any  more?'' 
added  MoU,  sadly,  looldng  up  at  her. 

'  No,  indeed ;  Ave'd  be  fond  of  you — wouldn't 
we,  Beppo?'  said  Bryda,  eagerly. 

Beppo  nodded  and  said,  '  Yes,  yes.'  He  was- 
proud  of  his  knowledge  of  English,  such  as  it 
was. 

'  No  one's  fond  of  me,'  said  Moll,  still  more- 
sadlv.     '  Jim  used  to  be,  iu  a  fashion,  but  he- 


188 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


■wouldn't  give  Lis  little  finger  to  aave  me  from 
drowning.  An'  I'm  too  -vvicked  for  father  to 
love  me — or  any  one  else  either.' 

Bryda's  eyes  filled  watli  tears.  '  God  loves 
you,  Moll,'  she  whispered  gently. 

But  Moll  shook  her  head.  '  No,  He  don't. 
God  Almighty  may  care  for  the  gentlefolks — 
seems  like  it.     But  He  don't  care  for  such  as  us.' 

'  Indeed  He  does,'  said  Bryda,  earnestly, 
quite  sure  this  time  that  there  was  no  doubt  of 
what  she  said  being  true.  '  See  how  He  has 
cared  for  Bepj)o  and  his  mother'.' 


"^^f 


/      '^^^^'^Z  ^^&=^ 


'  Did  He  tell  the  old  carpenter  to  be  good  to 
them '? '  asked  Moll,  thoughtfully.  '  "VYell,  it's 
not  much  a  poor  man  like  him  can  do.' 

'  Oh  I  he's  not  a  poor  man,'  burst  out  Bryda. 
'  He's  a  prince  really,  he  told  me  so.  And  his 
Father's  a  very  great  King,  and  will  take  him 
to  live  in  a  palace  some  day  soon.' 

'  And  he  have  gold,  much  gold,  hid  safe  from 
de  tieves,'  added  Beppo  in  his  broken  English. 
He  and  Bryda  were  sitting  on  the  bank  now 
beside  Moll  Dawson. 

'  Eh  I '  said  Moll :  '  whoever  would  Lave 
thought  it'?' 

'  It's  quite  true,'  said  Bryda,  and  went  on  to 
tell  all  about  old  Roger's  inheritance.  She  was 
just  going  on  to  tell  about  his  cat,   and   the 


funny  story  of  all  the  cats  with  excellent 
'  characters,'  when  Uncle  Jack's  voice  was  heard 
in  the  blackberry-field  calling  her. 

At  this  sound  Moll  Dawson  sj^rang  up, 
nodded  a  hasty  farewell,  and  scrambled  through 
a  small  breach  in  the  hedge  behind,  vanishing  in 
a  moment,  in  spite  of  Bryda's  entreaties  to  her 
to  stay,  and  let  Uncle  Jack  Lear  Low  she  had 
saved  them. 

Uncle  Jack's  cheerful  brown  face  grew  very 
white  when  he  heard  the  story. 

'  Say  notLing  to  tlie  grannies,  Bryda,'  he  said. 
'  Not  because  it  is  rigLt 
to  have  secrets,  little  maid, 

,  ,y    .-,  but  because  grandmotLer 

is  too  old  and  weak  to 
Lear  about  anything  that 
would  frigLten  her.  But 
you  and  I  will  see  what 
we  can  do  for  Moll  Daw- 
son, and  we  mil  ask 
-y.-       lis  Cousin    Salome's    advice. 

^''■^M  Eh?' 

'  ~  Poor    Moll     Dawson  I 

SLe  Lad  done  one  good 
deed  tliat  day.  It  was  a 
pity  tLat  in  the  afternoon 
she  should  do,  though  not 
intentionally,  some  sad 
harm. 

Her  brother  Jim  worked 
as  garden -boy  with  Mr. 
Seymour  (that  was  the 
name  of  Bryda's  grand- 
father). Moll,  roaming 
idly  about,  met  him  as  he  came  from  work  in 
the  evening,  and  in  Ler  careless,  gossiping  way, 
began  to  tell  Lini  all  tLat  Bryda  Lad  said  about 
old  Roger's  store  of  treasure,  which  Moll  said 
was  money  he  had  hidden  away  somewhere  in 
his  poor  little  cottage,  hke  a  miser. 

For  Bryda  did  not  yet  understand,  what  is 
perhaps  plain  to  any  one  reading  this,  that  the 
old  man,  accustomed  as  he  was  to  live  alone, 
thought  so  much  of  the  heavenly  country  where 
he  hoped  to  go,  and  of  the  many  mansions 
in  the  Father's  House,  that  he  talked  of  them 
in  a  way  that  seemed  to  the  child  to  mean 
tilings  on  earth.  So  the  precious  treasure  of 
the  love  of  Christ,  and  of  the  hope  that  is 
in  Him,  seemed  to  little  Bryda  to  be  perishing 


SuNDA  Y  Reading  for  the  Young. 


189 


treasures  of  earth,  money,  and  jewels.  And 
what  Bryda  had  told  Moll,  Moll  repeated, 
with  unprovements  of  her  own,  to  her  bad 
brother. 

'Ah I  ah!'  said  Jim;  'he's  a  chicken  worth 
plucking — eh,  Moll '?  A  knock  on  the  old  boy's 
head,  if  he  objects,  and  then  share  and  share  alike 
for  you  and  me.' 

'  You  leave  him  alone,  Jim,'  she  answered;  for 
the  longing  to  be  better  was  working  in  the  poor 
girl's  darkened  mind,  even  as  the  Spirit  of  God 
rested  on  the  earth  when  it  was  '  without  form 
and  void.'    Christ,  Who  died  for  poor  Moll,  was 


calling  gently,  and  the  hard  heart  softened  a 
little. 

'Boo,'  said  Jim,  with  a  hideous  grimace. 
'  You're  afraid  o'  being  found  out.  Split  on  me 
and  tell  the  police,  will  you  ?  Yah,  that's  like 
a  woman.' 

'  I'll  not  have  it,  Jim,'  went  on  Moll,  steadily. 
'  I'm  not  afraid,  that  you  know  right  well :  I'm  a 
better  tliief  than  you  by  a  long  way,  and  never 
was  caught  yet;  but  I'll  have  nought  to  do  with 
this — nor  you  either.' 

'  We'll  see,'  said  Jim,  and  held  his  tongue. 
{To  ie  continued.) 


MAPPY    SUNDAY    AFTERNOONS.— No.  III. 

WHAT   DOES    THE   BIBLE   SAY  ABOUT    THE   ARK? 

An  easy  Exercise  for  little  learners  to  write  or  say  from  memory. 


LAZYBOlSrES. 

WHEN  I  was  yoimg,  my  brothers  and 
sisters  used  to  call  me  Lazybones,  be- 
cause I  would  not  get  up  when  called  in  the 
morning.  There  are,  no  doubt,  many  thousands 
of  children  and  young  jjeople  who  are,  as  I  was, 
lazy  and  indolent,  and  slow  to  see  the  value  of 
rising  early  to  the  duties  of  the  day. 

I   have   grown   wiser  since  then,   and   have 


learned  how  many  things  can  be  accomplished 
by  getting  up  early,  which  would  be  impossible 
without  it. 

Many  a  celebrated  man  has  begun  life  by 
being  a  lazybones.  Yes,  and  would  have  been 
lazybones  to  the  end,  but  for  a  little  bit  of  moral 
courage  to  tackle  the  failing. 

Very  amusing  is  Bnffon's  account  of  how  he 
cured    himself.       Buffon    was    the     celebrated 


190 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


natiiralist  wlio  wrote  many  volumes  on  Natural 
Hibtory. 

'  In  my  youth,'  says  lie,  '  I  was  very  fond  of 
sleep ;  it  robbed  me  of  a  great  deal  of  wry  time ; 
but  my  servant  Joseph  helped  me  at  last  to 
overcome  it.  I  promised  to  give  liini  a  crown 
every  time  he  could  make  me  get  up  at  six. 

'  The  next  morning  he  did  not  fail  to  wake 
and  torment  me  ;  but  he  received  only  abirse. 

'  The  day  after  he  did  the  same,  with  no  better 
euccess ;  and  I  was  obliged  to  confess  at  noon 
that  I  had  lost  my  time. 

'  I  told  Joseph  that  ho  did  not  know  how  to 
manage  the  business,  and  that  he  ought  to  think 
CI  my  promise,  and  not  mind  my  threats  and 
hard  words. 

'  The  day  following  he  employed  force ;  I 
begged  fur  indulgence — I  bid  him  begone — I 
stormed — but  Joseph  persisted. 

'  I  was,  therefore,  obliged  to  comply,  and  he 
■was  rewarded  every  day  for  the  abuse  which  he 
sufi'ered  at  the  moment  when  I  awoke  by  thanks, 
accompanied  by  a  crown,  which  I  gave  him 
punctually  at  noon. 

'  Ah,  yes  I  I  am  indebted  to  poor  Joseph  for 
ten  or  a  dozen  of  the  volumes  of  my  work.' 

This  is  all  very  comical,  but  it  shows  how 
lazy  even  clever  jjeople  can  get,  when  once  they 
give  way  to  bad  habits. 

And  there  are  plenty  of  instances  of  men  who 
ov.re  all  their  success  and  fame  to  getting  up 
early  :  Bishop  Burnet,  Dr.  Paley,  Bishop  Jewell. 
hir  Matthew  Hale — to  saj'  nothing  of  Homer, 
Horace,  and  Virgil.    We  might  make  a  long  list. 

Sir  Thomas  More  says,  in  the  preface  to  one 
of  his  books,  that  he  completed  it  by  stealing  the 
time  from  his  sleep  and  meals. 

The  celebrated  Lord  Coke  divided  his  time 
thus,  in  rhyme  : — 

'  Six  hours  to  sleep — to  law's  grave  study  sis ; 
Four  spent  in  praj'er — the  rest  to  nature  fix.' 

But  Sir  William  Jones  mapped  out  a  wiser 
economy  of  life's  fleeting  hours,  and  amended 
the  famous  lawyer's  lines  : — • 

'  Seven  hours  to  law — to  soothing  slumber  .seven  ; 
Ten  to  the  world  allot — and  all  to  heaven.' 


PROVERBS    OLD    ATfD    NEW. 

A  woED  and  a  stone  let  go,  cannot  be  called 
back. 


THE   ANIMALS   OP   THE   BIBLE', 

THE  ELEPHANT. 

'  Elephant  I  so  old  and  vast, 
Thou  a  kindly  nature  hast ; 
Grave  thou  art,  and  strangely  ■wisej 
With  observant,  serious  eyes ; 
Somewhat  in  thy  brain  must  be 
Of  an  old  sagacity. 
Thou  art  solemn,  wise,  and  good ; 
Livest  not  on  streaming  blood. 
Thou,  and  all  thine  ancient  clan, 
■Walked  the  world  ere  grief  began, 
Preying  not  on  one  another, 
Nourished  by  the  general  mother,. 
Who  gave  forests  thick  and  tall, 
Food  and  shelter  for  you  all. 
Elephant !  if  thou  hadst  been. 
Like  the  tiger  fierce  and  keen, 
Like  the  lion  of  the  brake. 
Or  the  deadly  rattlesnake, 
Eavenous  as  thou  art  strong, 
Terror  would  to  thee  belong ; 
And  before  thy  mates  and  thee 
All  the  earth  would  desert  be. 
But,  instead,  thou  yield'st  thy  ■will. 
Tractable,  and  peaceful  still ; 
Pull  of  good  intent,  and  mild, 
As  a  humble  httle  child  ; 
Serving  with  obedience  true. 
Aiding,  loving,  mourning  too  ; 
For  each  noble  sentiment 
In  thy  good,  great  heart  is  blent ! ' 

Ifii^HE  Elephant  is  by  fsr  the  larges->! 
of  land  animals,  and  for  this  rea- 
son one  of  the  most  interesting  ;: 
but  even  ■without  this  superiority 
he  possesses  qualities  that  entitle 
him  to  rank  among  the  curious- 
objects  of  creation. 
In  ages  long  gone  by  there  were  elephants- 
upon  the  earth — or  animals  resembling  elephants  - 
— as  much  larger  than  the  existing  species  as- 
these  are  superior  in  size  to  other  cpiadrupcds. 
Such  were  the  mammoths  and  mastodons,  the 
skeletons  of  which  are  occasionally  found  buried' 
beneath  the  surface  of  the  soil  in  different  parts- 
of  the  world. 

The  Elephant  is  not  distinctly  mentioned  ii^L 
the  canonical  books  of  the  Bible,  but  is  found  as- 
the  marginal  reading  to  Behemoth,  in  Joo,  xl. 
15.  'Elephants'  teeth'  is  the  marginal  reading 
for  ivory,  in  1  Kings,  x.  22  ;  2  Chrou.  ix.  17. 
Elep)hants,  however,  are  repeatedly  mentioned  in 
the  Apocryphal  books  of  the  Maccabees,  wher& 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


101 


■^■e  read  that  Lysias,  wlio  liad  been  intrusted  with 
the  government  of  Sonthern  Syi'ia,  employed 
many  of  these  animals  in  his  wars  against  the 
Jews.  We  also  read  that  Antiochus  Epiphanes 
■entered  Egypt  with  a  great  multitude,  with 
chariots,  and  elephants,  and  horsemen,  and  a 
great  navy,  and  made  war  against  Ptolemy, 
kuig  of  Egypt  (1  Mace.  i.  17,  18).  Elephants 
are  also  mentioned  in  other  passages  in  the  books 
■of  the  Maccabees.  In  the  battles  of  the  ancient 
world  the  elephant  plays  a  considerable  part; 
the  elephants  an  army  could  muster  being  con- 
•■sidered  an  important  element  in  its  strength. 
Many  of  our  young  readers  will  probably  remem- 
l)er  how  Alexander,  in  his  campaigns  in  India, 
w-as  opposed  by  tame  elephants,  which  the  natives 
ihad  trained  to  war ;  and  the  Greeks  ultimately 
introduced  these  animals  into  their  own  armies. 
The  Carthaginians  also  used  them;  and  Pyrrhus, 
■when  he  attacked  the  Romans,  brought  a  num- 
ber of  these  unwieldy  beasts  to  help  him  in  gain- 
ing his  expected  triumph.  Elephants  were  also 
-exhibited  in  the  Eoman  amphitheatre ;  and  in  a 
magnificent  spectacle  given  by  Pompey,  the 
..general,  to  the  brutal  populace,  a  number  of 
these  majestic  creatures  were  driven  into  the 
circus,  and  slain  with  darts  for  the  amusement  of 
the  spectators. 

As  an  elephant  costs  a  considerable  sum 
-of  money,  even  in  India,  they  are  eagerly 
hunted ;  and  their  capture  is  accomplished  by 
inclosing  a  large  space  with  palisades.  Into 
"this  space  the  natives  drive  a  number  of  the 
'■elephants,  and  there  keep  the  furious  captives 
until  famine  renders  them  tractable.     In  other 

■  cases  a  noose  is  thrown  round  the  hind  leg  of  the 
•wild  animal ;  to  this  noose  is  attached  a  long 
.rope,  the  end  of  which  is  wound  many  times 
3'ound   a   tree.     The   elephant  rushes   on  at  a 

■  clumsy  trot  until  the  rope  stops  him  with  a  jerk, 
generally  throwing  him  doAvn.  After  a  time  his 
:Struggles,  which  are  at  first  frantic,  become  fainter, 
and  he  is  quiet  from  mere  exhaustion.  Then  two 
tame  elephants,  trained  to  the  work,  are  brought 
upon  the  scene.     They  take  up  their  position, 

-one  on  each  side  of  the  captive,  and  escort  him 
to  his  future  home.  If  he  should  attempt  to 
resist  they  beat  him  with  their  trunks  until  he 
submits.  Elephants  are  also  used  as  decoys,  to 
lure  the  wild  elephants  into  the  inclosures  made 
■by  the  Cingalese. 


In  captivity  the  elephant  is  tame,  docile, 
obedient  to  his  keeper,  and  ready  to  exert  his 
huge  strength  to  the  utmost  in  fulfilling  the  tasks 
imposed  upon  him.  In  confinement,  however, 
he  is  liable  to  sudden  fits  of  madness,  during 
which  he  rages  furiously ;  and  in  such  cases  there 
is  nothing  for  it  but  to  put  an  end  to  his  life. 
Chunee,  the  elephant  in  the  menagerie  at  Exeter 
Change,  in  London,  was  thus  destroyed,  being 
shot  by  a  file  of  soldiers  when  an  access  of  rage 
rendered  him  dangerous  to  all  around  him. 

The  sagacity  of  the  elephant  is  very  re- 
markable. He  can  be  trained  more  highly  even 
than  the  dog,  and  is  accordingly  employed  in  all 
kinds  of  duties.  A  traveller  in  India  relates  how 
he  once  saw  two  elephants,  with  their  trunks 
covered  in  leather  panoply,  employed  in  pulhng 
down  a  wall,  while  their  keepers  sat  by,  urging 
the  sagacious  brutes  to  greater  exertion  by  the 
promise  of  food  and  ghee — a  kind  of  spirit — when 
their  task  should  be  accomplished.  The  manner 
in  which  they  perform  various  tasks  is  marvel- 
lous. They  seem  really  to  exert  almost  human 
reflection  and  foresight.  Thus  an  elephant  will 
deposit  cai-go  in  a  boat  in  such  a  way  that  the 
balance  of  the  vessel  is  maintained.  It  will  push 
a  heavy  cart,  or  waggon,  or  cannon  along  a  road, 
and  pause  occasionally  to  remove  obstacles  that 
lie  in  the  way. 

A  'sense  of  honour  and  of  shame  is  also  com- 
mon among  elephants ;  and  a  case  is  Imown  in 
which  one  of  these  animals,  indignant  at  hearing 
an  order  that  he  should  be  sent  awaj^  and 
another  set  to  accomplish  a  task  which  seemed 
too  hard  for  him,  renewed  his  eftbrt  with  such 
frantic  force  that  he  fractured  his  skull  and  fell 
dead. 

The  tusks  or  teeth  of  the  elephant  are  very 
valuable  as  an  article  of  commerce.  They  are 
six  or  eight  feet  long,  and  rather  curved  ;  one  of 
them  sometimes  weighs  as  much  as  eighty  pounds. 
Solomon  was  the  first  Jewish  king  to  introduce 
ivory  into  Judea,  as  he  was  the  first  to  use  it. 
He  had  at  sea  a  navy  of  Tarshish  ;  once  in  every 
tha-ee  years  it  came  bringing,  among  other  things, 
ivory,  or,  as  it  is  in  the  Hebrew,  'elephants'  teeth.' 
And  we  are  told  that  Solomon  'made  a  great 
throne  of  ivory,  and  overlaid  it  with  pure  gold.' 
Later  on,  Ahab  made  for  himself  a  'house  of 
ivory" — that  is,  a  house  ornamented  or  inlaid 
with  ivory.  T.  S- 


192 


SuA-DAY  Reading  for  the  Young. 


A  Pvoyal  Captive. 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


193 


A  poor  Dog's  Despair. 
c  c 


194 


Sunday  -Reading  for  the  Young. 


A    DOG'S    DESPAIR. 

)APPILY  there  are  very  few 
instances  on  record  of  clogs 
displaying  the  darker  pas- 
sions, but  the  following  anec- 
dote was  related  in  a  London 
paper  of  1875,  and  the  names 
and  places  given  as  voncliers 
for  its  truth. 

A  dog  belonging  to  a 
gentleman  living  in  the  su- 
burbs of  Rochester  delibe- 
rately drowned  himself.  Ho 
had  been  suspected  of  showing  symptoms  of 
madness,  and,  as  a  precaution,  A\'as  kept  away 
from  the  family  and  household  for  some  days ; 
getting  loose,  he  went  off  to  a  friend  of  his 
master's,  where,  also,  he  w-as  refused  admission. 

It  -would  seem  as  if  this  treatment  was  too 
m\icli  for  his  sensitive  nature;  despair  appeared  to 
overtake  him,  and  he  ran  do^vn  to  the  river,  where, 
after  turning  round  and  uttering  a  dismal  howl, 
the  poor  beast  walked  into  the  stream,  and 
held  his  head  mider  the  water  imtil  he  rolled 
over,  dead. 

He  had  deliberately  drowned  himself.  \^'e 
cannot  measure  the  sufferings  of  the  brute 
creation,  but  it  is  evident  that  bodily  pain  is 
not  the  only  anguish  permitted  to  cume  upon 
them. 


THE    FIRST    STEAMER. 

MANY  of  the  steamers  that  cross  the  ocean 
to  go  to  America  are  built  at  Glasgow. 
It  was  here  that  a  ship  called  the  Comet  was 
launched  in  1812.  Now  this  Comet  was  the 
first  boat  in  Europe  that  was  proitcUed — that  is, 
pushed — through  the  water  by  steam.  Fancy 
all  Europe  with  onh'  one  little  tinv  steamboat! 
Now,  all  the  rivers  and  seas  are  dotted  ovi.r  with 
these  '  fire-boats,'  and  we  need  not  wait  for  a 
favourable  wind  to  take  our  ship  to  where  we 
wish  to  go.  If  there  is  no  wind,  w"e  need  not 
w-ait  idl}"-,  as  people  need  to  have  to  do  when 
there  were  only  sailing-vessels  ;  we  heap  the  coal 
on  the  engine  fire,  we  '  get  up  steajn,'  and  away 
we  skim  through  the  waves,  let  the  wind  blow 
as  it  likes. 

'  Great  Britain  for  Little  Britons' 


MIXED      PICKLES. 

(Continued  from  -page  189.) 
CHAPTER    XIII. JIOIiE    ABOUT    BEITO. 

BRYDA  was  not  allowed  to  go  alone  to  the 
village  again,  since  her  nurse  had  told 
granny  she  was  missing  on  that  unfortunate  Sun- 
day afternoon,  when  the  whole  household  had 
turned  out  in  jjursuit  of  her.  She  had  therefore 
jjromised  Beppo  to  meet  him  in  the  church  or 
churchyard  at  half-past-five,  and  take  him  to 
Cousin  Salome. 

For  the  second  time  she  found  the  poor  little 
Italian  in  bitter  grief.  It  happened  that  a 
great  dark  bank  of  clouds  had  covered  the  sky 
for  a  great  part  of  the  day.  and  the  church  inside 
was  so  dark  that  the  sexton  thought  it  well  to 
light  up  the  building  before  the  short  service, 
which  Avas  every  evening  during  summer  at  six, 
and  in  winter  much  earlier. 

To-night  the  choir  were  practising  before 
service,  so  when  Beppo  came  to  the  chm-ch 
at  half-past-five,  to  meet  his  little  friend,  the 
building  was  lighted  up.  He  came  to  see  his 
beautiful  angel  again  to  tell  her,  whom  he  still 
thought  a  great  and  powerful  friend,  all  that 
had  happened  to  him.  But  with  the  darkness 
outside  and  the  bright  lights  within,  all  the 
colours  had  faded  out  of  the  window,  so  that,  as 
any  one  who  goes  into  a  lighted  church  by  night 
can  see,  there  was  only  a  dark  blank  space  where 
the  beautiful  angel  liad  stood.  And  the  j)as- 
sionate  little  southern  boy  said  to  himself  that  his 
friend  had  forsaken  him,  that  she  was  gone  and 
would  never  come  back  again. 

Bryda  felt  that  he  was  somehow  quite  wrong, 
but  how  was  she  to  explain,  or  to  comfort  him  ? 

First  she  told  him  his  angel  was  not  gone, 
but  had  only  faded  from  liis  sight,  and  that  with 
daylight  he  would  find  her  again.  But  as  at 
this  he  only  sobbed  afresh,  and  said  she  icas  gone, 
he  could  not  see  her,  so  she  must  be  gone,  Bryda 
tried  to  explain  that  his  friend  W'as  no  real 
person,  but  only  a  beautiful  picture.  This  only 
made  him  very  indignant;  he  knew  angels  took 
care  of  people,  his  mother  had  often  told  him 
so ;  did  Bryda  mean  to  tell  him  there  were  no 
angels '? 

Then  Bryda,  not  knowing  how  to  meet  these 
questions,  proposed  that  he  should  come  with  her 
at  once  to  Cousin  Salome,  and  hand  in  hand  the 


Sunday  Readixg  for  the  Young. 


195 


two  children  went  up  tlio  long  slirulibery  walk 
to  find  her. 

Salome  greeted  them  ^.•ith  her  own  bright 
smile,  and  made  Beppo  sit  on  a  low  stool  by  her 
side.  Soon  the  black  eyea  grew  very  bright  and 
round,  when  the  child  found  that  this  English 
lady  had  seen  his  own  beautiful  Italy  and  seemed 
to  love  it  nearly  as  well  as  he  did. 

Then,  when  Cousin  Salome  began  to  speak 
to  him  in  Italian,  Beppo  fairly  jumped  off  his 
stool  and  dapped  his  hands  with  delight. 

Here  was  a  friend  for  him  I  Until  one  has 
gone  to  a  strange  country  and  tliere  been  very 
lonely  and  sorrowful,  like  poor  little  Beppo,  it 
is  not  easy  to  understand  the  delight  that  he 
felt  at  hearing  his  own  la]iguage  spoken  again. 

After  a  little  time  Bryda  began  to  tell  Cousin 
Salome  all  about  Beppo's  troubles,  and  especially 
the  last,  which  seemed  to  the  jjoor  little  boy  a 
very  great  one. 

'  No,  Beppo,  your  beautiful  angel  is  not  gone,' 
she  answered;  'she  is  only  hidden  from  you  for  a 
time  by  the  darkness.  But  I  will  tell  you  both, 
dear  children,  what  this  little  grief  of  Beppo's  is 
like,  and  we  can  make  it  a  sort  of  jiarable.  Bryda, 
you  know  what  a  parable  is  ?' 

'  A  story  that  means  something,  isn't  it  ?'  said 
Bryila. 

'  \  OS,  dear.  "Well,  when  we  are  j'oung,  our 
life  is  like  a  bright  painted  window,  very  lovely 
to  look  at.  But,  supposing  our  sky  gets  dark  and 
some  great  trouble  comes  up  like  the  night ' 


'  Something   like  your   illness,    cc 


said 


Bryda,  gently. 

Cousin  Salome  smiled. 

'  Yes,  perhaps,  dear.  Or  like  Beppo's  great 
trouble,  when  his  motlier  told  him  she  must  go 
and  be  with  God,  and  leave  liim  alone.  Tliat 
makes  life  seem  very  dark — doesn't  it,  Beppo?' 

Beppo  nodded  his  head,  he  could  not  speak, 
because  a  great  lump  came  up  in  his  throat  and 
made  him  feel  as  if  he  must  choke. 

'  ^Yell,  when  the  night  is  over,'  went  on 
Salome,  'and  the  kind,  bright  sun  comes  back 
again,  our  life  looks  boantil'nl  again.  But  what 
do  people  do  when  the  church  gets  dark,  Beppo '? ' 

'  Light  de  lamps,'  said  Beppo,  quick!}-. 

'  Ah,  yes  !  that  is  it  1  Light  the  lamps,  and 
then  we  forget  all  about  the  darkness  outside. 
Inside  there  is  warmth  and  light  and  bright- 
ness, and  sweet  hymns  go  up  to  the  Great  White 


Throne  of  God.  And  life  is  beautiful  after  all, 
though  it  is  a  little  more  sad  and  solemn,  as 
Bep)io  feels  it  now.' 

Then  Cousin  Salome  went  on  to  talk  to  Beppo  in 
Italian  about  a  Friend  \'\'ho  would  never  forsake 
him,  and  Who  was  always  neai-,  though  the  dim 
eves  of  men  cannot  see  Him  ;  of  One  far  more 
lovely  and  loving  than  the  angels,  v.'ho  Avere  only 
servants  in  that  great  House  of  the  Father's, 
in  which  heaven  and  earth  are  contained.  Only 
servants;  but  He — this  Friend  Who  was 
willing  to  be  always  Beppo's  ft-icnd,  if  the  child 
would  look  to  Hin\  and  trust  Hini- — -He  was  the 
Son  of  the  House,  and  all  things  were  His. 

Bryda  listened,  thongh  she  could  not  under- 
stand the  language,  and  as  she  listened  she 
thought  she  knew  the  use  of  lessons. 

'  Lessons  and  doses,'  she  had  said,  '  were 
sup]iosed  to  do  people  good,'  and  now  she  saw 
at  all  events  one  use  of  lessons.  '  If  I  could 
talk   Italian  to  Beppo,  how  nice  it  -would  be  !  ' 

And  mentally  she  resolved  that  when  the  new 
governess  came — it  was  to  be  very  soon  now — 
she  woidd  work  harder  than  ever  before,  even  over 
lists  of  dates.  After  all  she  might  find  o\Tt  some 
daj'  that  there  was  a  use  for  those,  too  I 

Beppo  listened  as  to  one  who  told  him  some 
strange  new  thing.  He  had  been  taught  by  his 
mother  much  about  angels  watching  over  him 
with  beautiful  shining  wings;  but  very  little, 
almost  nothing,  about  the  loving  Saviour  Who 
was  once  a  little  boy  like  himself,  and  Who 
grew  up  to  be  the  Friend  and  Hcljier  of  any  one 
who  was  in  distress,  and  to  Whom  the  little 
troubles  of  His  little  children  were  as  important 
as  the  great  and  bitter  griefs  that  crush  the 
hearts  of  men. 

Poor  little  boy  !  he  drank  in  every  ■\\'ord,  \\\&i 
great  eyes  fixed  on  Coiisin  Salome's  face,  and  it 
seemed  to  him,  as  it  had  seemed  to  Bryda  while 
she  listened  to  the  Vicar's  sermon,  that  there 
never  could  be  anything  half  so  sweet  as  trying 
to  please  this  loving  Lord  Jesus,  Who  was  such 
a  kind  Friend. 

But  the  invalid  began  to  grow  tired,  and 
Bryda  saw  that  she  could  not  talk  much  longer. 
So  she  got  up  suddenly,  and  carried  off  Beppo, 
and  Cousin  Salome  was  left  to  her  needful  rest. 

It  was  settled  first  of  all  though,  that  Bryda 
should  give  Beppo  lessons  in  reading  every  day. 

'  Eeading    and  weeding  '. '    said  Uncle  Jack. 


196 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Youac. 


'  I  have  made  love  to  Hayes  the  gardener,  and 
he  has  promised  to  let  Beppo  come  and  weed  in 
the  garden;  and  so  the  little  chap  can  earn 
something,  and  not  feel  qnite  such  a  burden  on 
old  Eoger.' 

Beppo's  mother  was  not  to  be  long  a  burden 
on  any  one.  One  night,  while  Beppo  slept, 
and  while  it  seemed  that  she  slept  too,  old 
Roger  stealing  in  on  tip-toe,  found  that  she 
was  indeed  asleep,  wrapped  in  that  last  long 
Bleep  which  no  evil  dreams  'disturb.     She  would 


never  be  himgry,  or  thirsty,  or  tired  again,  for 
God  had  taken  His  child,  who,  though  ignorant 
enough,  had  been  faithful  to  Him,  to  that  rest  of 
which  ^\■e  say,  '  He  giveth  His  beloved  sleep.' 

Close  by  that  grave  witli  the  one  word  '  Liz,' 
they  made  another,  and  on  that  there  was  only 
one  word  too, — '  Speranza. 

Very  few  of  the  village  people  knew  what 
Cousin  Salome  told  Bryda,  that  the  beautiful 
name  of  the  poor  Itahan  meant  '  Hope.' 
(To  he  continued.) 


LIFE'S    FOOTSTEPS. 


TWO  little  feet,  by  the  meadow  sweet. 
Starting  upon  life's  way. 
Never  a  thought  of  the  journey's  end. 

Or  of  the  weary  day. 
Guarded  and  safe  in  a  mother's  care. 
With  sunshine  and  gladness  everywhere. 

Two  steady  feet  in  life's  busy  street, 

Firm  with  an  object  true. 
Meadow  and  streamlet  now  passed  by, 

A  noble  end  in  view. 
A  maiden  dreams  of  eternal  flowers, 
The  peaceful  shade  of  the  fadeless  bowers. 


Two  wearij  feet  in  the  noontide  heat. 

Tired  of  the  journey's  length  ; 
Upward  and  onward  striving  still, 

Ever  from  strength  to  strength. 
A  heart  is  filled  with  a  peaceful  joy, 
That  the  shades  of  life  can  ne'er  destroy. 

Two  resting  feet  in  the  golden  street. 

That  erst  in  the  highway  trod  ; 
Now  are  they  cleansed  from  the  travel  stains, 

And  safe  in  the  Home  of  God. 
Doubting  and  sorrow  for  ever  past, 
A  pilgrim  rests  from  her  toil  at  last. 

Marian  Isabel  Hurrell. 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


197 


The  Goat. 


198 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


ANIMALS    OP    THE    BIBLS. 

The  Goat. 


HE  goat  is  not  an  animal  that 

we    deem    of    any    particular 

value ;    bnt  in   the  estimation 

of  the  Hebrews  in  Eible  times 

it   was    of    great    imjsortance. 

There  are  numerous   allusions 

to   the   domestic    goat   in   the 

Eible,  while  references  to  the  wild 

goat,  as  inhabiting  the  roclcs  and  the 

i'\'<\    high   hills    of    Palestine,     occasionall}' 

occur. 

Many  of  the  fables  of  ^Esop  make  mention  of 
the  goat;  and  the  goatherd  was  an  important 
personage  among  the  ancients.  AYho  does  not 
remember  the  story  of  the  foolish  goatherd,  who, 
having  taken  shelter  with  his  goats  in  a  cave, 
and  finding  a  numljer  of  wild  goats  already  in 
possession  there,  gave  the  food  of  his  flock  to 
the  wild  goats,  in  hope  of  making  a  prize  of 
them  ?  The  consequence  of  which  proceeding 
was,  that  his  own  flock  perished  through  hunger, 
while  the  wild  goats  escaped  at  the  first  oppor- 
tunity, and  thus  he  returned  home  without  wild 
goats  or  tame. 

The  common,  or  domestic  goat,  is  so  well- 
known  an  animal  that  its  appearance  need 
scarcely  be  described.  The  horns  are  generally 
cm-ved  backwards,  and  most  species  are  pro- 
vided with  a  beard.  The  domestic  goat  is  fwmd 
in  nearly  all  parts  of  the  world,  but  the  moun- 
tains suit  it  best. 

The  wild  goat  has  a  great  love  of  change,  and 
60  it  has  a  great  tendency  to  wander.  Its  con- 
stitution is  hardy,  which  renders  it  insensible  to 
cold  and  heat,  and  enables  it  to  browse  on  almost 
every  herb.  It  loves  standing,  climbing,  and 
even  sleeping,  on  rugged  eminences.  It  will  find 
its  food  in  places  inaccessible  to  almost  all  other 
animals,  and  live  and  thrive  by  cropping  the 
scanty  herbage  which  they  furnish.  In  the 
mountain  ranges  of  Europe,  on  the  Alps  and 
Pyrenees,  the  goat  is  found  at  a  great  height, 
approaching  as  near  the  line  of  perpetual  snow 
as  it  can  find  its  scanty  sustenance ;  and  it  feeds 
on  numy  plants  ^yhich  to  other  animals  are  dis- 
tasteful and  even  poisonous. 

An  amusing  storj'  is  told  of  two  goats  which 
met  face  to  face  on  a  narrow  ridge  ovcrhanguig 


a  great  depth  on  the  ramparts  at  Plymouth. 
The  ledge  was  too  narrow  for  them  to  pass  one 
another,  nor  could  they  well  retreat ;  but  one 
of  the  goats  sagaciously  solved  the  difficulty  by 
lying  down  and  allowing  his  fellow  to  walk  over 
his  back ;  and  then  efKih  pursued  '  the  even, 
tenour  of  liis  way.' 

That  the  goat  is  botli  sagacious  and  teachable 
is  proved  by  the  fact  that  it  is  often  used  as  a 
'  performing  animal,'  and  carried  about  to  excite 
the  wonder  of  amused  audiences.  Of  this  useful 
animal  there  is  an  endless  list  of  varieties.  Every 
country  has  its  kind.  We  shall  only  mention 
several  of  tlie  more  noted  and  valuable  sorts. 

The  Cashmere,  or  Thibet,  goat  of  the  Himalaya 
IMomitains,  is,  perhajis,  the  most  celebrated  of  the 
tribe,  and  will  probably  maintain  its  position  so 
long  as  Gashniere  shawls  are  prized  as  costly 
and  beautiful  articles  of  apparel.  The  Cashmere 
goat  has  flat,  spu'al,  curved  horns.  Its  bodj-  is 
covered  with  long,  straight,  shining  hair,  aiid 
imder  this  outward  covering  grows  a  soft  down 
or  wool,  from  which  the  exquisitely  fine  Cash- 
mere shawls  ai-e  made. 

Among  other  varieties  may  be  named  the 
Angora  goat,  of  a  snowy  white  colour,  with  long 
silky  hair  ;  and  the  Piocky  Mountain  goat  of 
North  America.  The  Syrian  goat  is  a  near 
relation  of  our  English  goat,  but  it  has  longer 
ears — ten  or  twelve  inches  long  ;  and  now  and 
then  a  wild  beast,  making  a  siidden  dash  at  a 
goat,  will  happen  to  seize  it  bj'  the  ear,  and 
tear  that  ofl";  and  perhaps  then,  by  making  a 
run  for  it,  the  poor  animal  may  escape.  It 
seems  to  bo  of  such  an  event  that  the  prophet 
Amos  writes. 

The  jMohair  goat,  seen  oidy  in  the  north  of 
Palestine,  is  a  kind  witli  rather  longer  hair  than 
the  common  Sj-rian  goat,  and  most  likely  it  was 
goats  of  this  kind  which  supplied  the  hair  for 
the  coverings  of  the  tabernacle.  This  hair  could 
be  easily  divided  into  two  sorts  :  one  was  long 
and  coarse,  and  so  did  well  fur  the  outside  of 
tents ;  the  other  was  soft  and  silky,  more  like 
what  we  call  '  alpaca.' 

The  ancient  Jews  kept  large  quantities  of 
goats  as  well  as  sheep,  and  the  present  inhabi- 
tants of  Palestine  still  rear  a  great  number  in 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


1'99^ 


some  districts.  The  Lilly  district,  which  extends 
from  Hebron  up  the  centre  of  "Western  Pales- 
tine to  the  Lebanon,  is  that  most  adapted  for 
goats;  and  there  tliey  have  been  reared  from  the 
earliest  times. 

The  sheep  and  goals  are  there  always  seen  to- 
gether under  the  same  shepherd  and  in  company, 
yet  they  never  tresjjass  on  the  domain  of  each 
other.  The  sheep  as  they  traverse  the  hillside 
graze  closely  the  tender  herbage  and  the  grass 
which  carpets  the  soil ;  the  goats,  generally  tiling 
in  long  lines  a  little  above  them,  skip  from  rock 
to  rock,  and  browse  on  the  tender  twigs  and  the 
fohage  of  the  tlij'Uies  and  dwarf  shrubs.  Yet, 
though  the  goats  mingle  with  the  sheep,  there  is 
no  disposition  on  either  side  for  more  intimate 
acquaintance ;  when  folded  together  at  night 
they  may  always  be  seen  gathered  in  distinct 
groups,  and  round  the  wells  they  appear  in- 
stinctively to  classify  themselves  apart,  as  they 
wait  for  the  troughs  to  be  filled.  This  separa- 
tion, is  referred  to  in  St.  Matthew's  Gospel, 
•chap.  XXV.  32,  in  that  solemn  description  of  the 
judgment-day  which  came  from  the  lips  of 
Jesus  Himself. 

In  the  East  the  milk  from  the  goat  was  thought 
very  valuable,  and  we  are  told  by  travellers  that 
the  cheeses  made  from  this  milk  are  now  much 
esteemed  in,  Syria,  because  of  a  finer  flavour  than 
those  made  froni  the  mUk  of  the  cow. 

The  flesh  of  the  goat,  especially  that  of  the 
tid,  was  prized  as  food.  A  kid  is  still  common 
food  in  Palestine.  Kids  are  oftener  killed  for 
food  than  lambs. 

When  we  read  of  bottles  in  the  Bible  we  must 
not  think  of  glass  bottles  such  as  we  have. 
Eastei'n  bottles  were  prepared  from  the  skins  of 
goats,  each  skin  forming  a  bottle,  and  the  hair 
"was  allowed  to  remain. 

Kids,  under  the  law  of  Moses,  were  often 
•sacrificed  with  lambs,  or  instead  of  them,  but  they 
must  always  be  without  blemish.  On  the  great 
Day  of  Atonement  two  goats  were  specially 
•brought  forward,  one  to  be  offered  up  as  atone- 
ment ;  the  other,  the  '  scapegoat,'  was  sent  away 
'  by  the  hand  of  a  fiit  man  into  the  wilderness, 
imto  a  land  not  inhabited,'  and  was  seen  no 
more.  It  taught  the  people  how  their  sins 
"might  be  borne  away  by  the  great  Sin-bearer, 
•and  would  never  come  into  God's  sight  again. 

But,   dear   children,    we   live  in   better   and 


happier  times.  What  the  scapegoat  was  to  the 
Israelites,  Christ  is  really  to  us  ;  what  the  scape- 
goat pictured  to  them,  Christ  has  done  for  us  ; 
for  '  the  Lord  hath  laid  on  Him  the  iniquity  of 
us  all.' 

These  Jewish  sacrifices  teach  us  that  God 
hates  sin,  that  He  has  so  loved  us  as  to  provide 
a  real  sacrifice,  and  that  He  will  receive  every 
dear  child  who  comes  to  Him,  sorrowing  for 
his  sin,  and  resting  upon  Christ  for  sal- 
vation. Dear  young  reader,  thus  act,  then  you 
may  say, — 

'  Saved !  saved !     I  shall  not  be  doomed  when  my 

earthly  life  is  o'er ; 
The  angels  will  wait  as  my  eager  soul  neareth  the 

shhiing  shore ; 
I  have  a  home  in  the  holy  land;  and  with  earnest, 

huoj'ant  feet, 
I  shall  spring  upon  the  pleasant  hills,  and  walk 

the  golden  street.'  rp  g^ 


NO    EVIL. 

Hear  no  evil  of  a  friend,  and  speak  none  of  au 
enemy. 


SUNNY   SUE. 


ONLY   want    a  needle    a   few 
minutes,'  said  httle  Sue ;  '  may 
I  take  one,  mother  ?  ' 
'  What  is  it  for,  child  ? ' 
'  To  mend  baby's  doU  ;    all 
the  sawdust  is  coming  out,  and 
the  poetry  book  saj's  "  she'll  bleed 
death."  ' 

'  Very  well,  Sue  ;  take  the  needle 
thimble  too  :  but  don't  lose  them, 
there's  a  good  child.' 
Sue  was  mother's  right  hand,  and  helped 
famously  with  all  the  little  household  duties — 
playing  with  the  little  ones,  minding  baby,  and 
keeping  the  boys  quiet  when  they  rushed  in  from 
school,  or  tidiying  the  place  up  after  them,  whea 
they  made  a  litter  of  chips  on  the  floor. 

It  mattered  not  whether  it  was  the  doll  or  the 
boys'  buttons  that  required  sewing,  Sue  was 
equal  to  it  all,  a  famous  ray  of  sunshine  to  keep 
all  straight  and  smooth  at  home. 

Just  what  all  children  may  be,  if  they  only 
determine  to  be  so. 


200 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


ffl 


w 


'iMlft'pil 


Sunny  Sue 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


201 


>Vr-; 


Will  Somers  at  work. 

D  D 


■■20-2 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


A    VILLAGE    GENIUS. 


WILL  SOMERS  was  not  a  dull  lad,  oli, 
no  I  the  very  reverse :  lie  was  always 
disking  inquisitive  questions,  and  seeking  to 
know  the  ins  and  outs  of  things  that  puzzled  his 
3'oung  hrain. 

He  took  after  his  father  thej'  said.  Ah  I  his 
father  was  a  clever  fellow — only  a  common 
ordinary  workman,  and  j^et  skilful  enough  to 
mend  and  clean  all  the  watches  and  clocks  in 
the  parish,  in  his  spai-e  time ;  and  when  the 
Squire's  hydraulic  engine,  for  pumping  water  up 
to  the  Lig  house,  broke  down,  Wiirs  father  was 
able  to  put  it  to  rights  again  without  the  help 
of  the  engineei-'s  men  from  the  next  town. 

Yes,  "Will  took  after  him  ;  he  was  always 
building  bridges,  or  cutting  out  patterns  of 
•wheels  and  windmills,  boats  and  engines ;  he 
thought  more  of  a  canal  barge  than  of  all  his 
lesson-books  ;  and  the  only  stories  which  held 
his  attention  were  those  that  told,  not  of  military 
or  martial  enterjirises,  but  of  inventors,  and  en- 
gineers, and  the  pioneers  of  discovery. 


One  day,  last  summer,  his  mother  missed  him 
from  the  window  where  he  had  been  cuttuig 
and  carving  bits  of  wood  with  his  knife. 

•'Where  can  ^Yill  be  '?  thought  she  ;  and  she 
went  to  find  liuu. 

yhe  found  him  in  the  yard,  with  one  of  liis 
newly  invented  Taachines  fixed  on  the  edge  of 
a  water-tub,  from  which  he  was  drawing  the 
contents  :  it  was  a  pump,  that  was  to  beat  all 
the  big  ones  he  had  seen  at  work,  and  no 
leaky  ship  need  sink  if  they  only  had  one  of 
these  on  board.  So  thought  "Will,  and  so  he 
said,  \\iien  his  mother  asked  him  what  he  was 
about. 

'  I  suppose  they  want  men  to  work  it  ? '  said 
Mrs.  Somers. 

'  Oh  I  yes,  of  course;  only  most  of  the  ship- 
wrecks happen  because  they  spring  a  leak,  and  the 
crew  cannot  keep  do'^ATi  the  water,  and  I  don't 
care  so  long  as  I  can  invent  something  useful.' 

Perhaps  some  day  he  may  do  so.  He  is  on 
the  right  track. 


HINDOO    SERVANTS. 

ONE  great  inconvenience  arising  from  'caste' 
among  the  Hindoos  falls  heavily  upon 
European  residents  in  India,  by  obliging  them 
to  have  a  very  large  number  of  servants,  for  the 
■simple  reason  that  each  will  only  do  one  thing, 
.and  they  will  not  help  each  other.  The  bearer 
will  not  take  a  tea-cup  off  the  table,  nor  the 
khidmutgar  pull  the  punkah. 

One  lady  was  asked  by  another,  recently 
.arrived  in  the  countrv,  how  many  servants  she 
had. 

She  replied,  '  I  am  not  sure,  but  we  are  very 
moderate  people.     I  can  soon  reckon.' 

They  were  nearly  thirtj^  in  number — a  wait- 
ing-maid, an  under-woman,  a  sweeper,  a  head- 
bearer,  a  mate-bearer,  six  imder-bearers,  a  khan- 
saman  or  house  steward,  three  table  attendants, 
.a  cook,  a  gardener,  and  a  water-carrier,  a 
washerwoman,  a  tailor,  a  coachman,  two  grooms, 
two  grass-cutters,  a  man  to  tend  the  goats,  and 
two  messengers.  And  all  these  servants  will 
only  wait  on  their  own  employers,  so  that  every 
one  visiting  must  take  his  own. 


All,  when  out  of  doors,  wear  shoes  of  yellow  or 
scarlet  leatlier.  with  the  toes  turned  up,  but  they 
never  enter  the  house  ^^•ith  them.  Indeed,  no 
man  could  show  more  disrespect  than  by  enter- 
ing the  presence  of  his  master  with  covered  feet 
and  bare  head. 

This  accords  with  Eastern  customs  for  long 
ages  back,  and  the  putting  off  the  shoes  from 
the  feet  on  holy  ground  is  spoken  of  in  the  Bible 
as  a  mark  of  reverence  from  the  earliest  times  of 
Moses. 

MIXED    PICKLES. 

[Contimicd  from  page  196.) 

OLD  Eoger  wotdd  not  jiart  with  Beppo.  He 
was  a  lonesome  old  man,  he  said,  and  it 
would  be  a  charity  to  let  the  boy  stay  with  him. 
Beppo  could  weed  and  learn  to  read  for  the 
present,  and  as  soon  as  he  knew  the  language 
better  he  could  go  to  school  in  the  village. 
Every  one  was  well  pleased  with  the  plan, 
for,  though  some  of  the  village  people  thought 
old  Roger  rather  odd,  from  the  wa}'  he  had  of 
talking  about  heaven  as  if  it  were  quite  near, 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


SOS?- 


and  of  Bible  people  as  if  they  were  still  alive, 
yet  no  one  donbted  his  goodness ;  and  kind 
Cousin  Salome  promised  to  pay  for  Beppo's 
Ecliooling.  So  it  seemed  that  the  poor  little  boy, 
after  his  long  wanderings,  would  have  a  happy 
home  and  kind  friends,  and  woirld  soon  forget 
all  his  troubles. 

Bryda   was  at   first   very   patient 
with    her    pupil,    who,    to    do    him 
justice,    was    not    stupid ;    but  what 
puzzled 
her  most 
was  that 
it     did 
not  Boem 
natural 
to    the 
Italian 

child  to  say  the 
English  words  as 
she  did. 

Uncle  Jack,  coming  one  day  into 
the  room  where  these  lessons  were 
going  on,  found  Beppo  with  tearful 
eyes,  while  Bryda  appeared  to  have 
at  that  moment  throAvn  the  reading- 
took  to  the  other  end 
of    the    room,    wliere 
it  lay  looking  like  a 
book  in  disgrace  in  the 
corner,    gaping   wide 
open   with   a   leaf  or 
two  scattered  on  the  way,  for  it  was  an  old  one. 

'  What  is  this  noise  about '? "  said  Uncle 
Jack,  with  a  face  of  amusement ;  '  what's  the 
matter  now  ? ' 

•  Beppo's  too  stupid,  Uncle  Jack- — and  I — I 
lost  ]3atience.' 

'  Lost,  a  valuable  temper,'  said  Uncle  Jack, 
with  a  serious  face;  'at  least  I  mean  "Lost,  a  good 
temper,  of  no  value  to  any  one  but  the  owner. 
Is  very  cheerfvd,  and  marked  \y\A\  a  capital  B. 
The  finder,  if  poor,  shall  be  handsomely  re- 
warded on  bringing  it  to "  ' 

'■Don't,  Uncle  Jack!'  Bryda  stood  on  tiptoe 
and  put  her  hands  over  his  moiTtli,  while  Beppo 
picked  up  the  book  and  put  in  the  scattered 
leaves.  '  But  really  I  can't  malce  him  understand 
BOme  things.  He  spells  c-a-t,  and  then  calls 
it  "cart,"  and  when  at  last  I  get  Mm  to  say  "cat," 
lie  goes  on  m-a-t,  "  mart  I"  ' 


'  I  suppose  Miss  Quillnib  never  had  any  sucli 
worries  in  teaching  Bryda'?'  said  Uncle  Jaek,. 
slyly. 

Bryda  looked  a  little  ashamed. 

'  But   do  you  know  that  it  is   natural  to  him 

to  say  cart  and  mart  instead  of  cat  and  mat, 

and  you  will  have  to  teach  him  gradually  that 

English  does  not  sound  like  Italian,  Bryda? 

Now  suppose^ 
by  way  of  va- 
riety, that  yow 
say  this  simple 
little  sentence- 
alter  me  : — 

'"Aldibo- 
rontiphosco- 
p  h  o  r  n  i  0  I  — 
where  left  yoii 
Chrononhot(.>n- 
thologos  ?  "  ' 

'"  Aldibo- 
ronti'' — I  don't 
k  n  0  w  a  n  y 
more  I 

'  That's  not 
English,  Uncle- 
Jack  : ' 

'  Well.  I  as-^ 
sure  you  it: 
comes  out  of  an 
English  play. 
So,  naturall}',. 
Trv    something 


say    it. 


the    actor     has    to 
easier, — 

"  Peter  Piper  piclted  a  peck  of  picliled  pepper ; 
A  peck  of  pielded  pepper  Peter  I'iper  picked. 
If  Peter  Piper  picked  a  peck  of  picJcled  pepper, 
Wliere's  the  peck  of  pielded  pepper  I'eter  Piper- 
picked  Y  " 

'  Which  of  us  thi-ee  will  say  that  veiy  fast  throB- 
times  without  a  mistake  ? ' 

They  all  tried,  and  all  failed,  and  the  lcssf)n 
ended  in  such  shouts  of  laughter,  that  both  the 
grannies  hobbled  in  —  helping  each  other  —  to. 
see  what  the  fun  was. 

{To  he  GOiitinucd.) 


PROVERBS    OLD    AND    ITEW. 

A  SLIP  of  the  foot  may  be  soon  recovered,  but 

that  of  the  tongue  perhaps  never. 


%t,0  sA/-  »'«> 

-®-      -»o«-      -j®- 

<&!'€)  /fN  **'i® 


ED    AND    THE     nEE 


The  water  clear  and  cool, 
Was  always  gushing  there, 

And  in  that  sweet  and  pretty  pool 
They  laved  their  faces  fair. 


HUMMING  o'er  the  nodding 
clover, 
In  the  bright  sweet  summer  day 
A  little  dancing  restless  rover 

Wings  his  happy  way; 
His  work  hegun  so  early 

'Twas  very  nearly  done, 
When  the  golden  fields  of  barley 
Gleamed  in  the  setting  sun. 

As  now  he  homeward  flies, 

Laden  with  honey  sweet, 
Packed  tightly  on  his  slender  thighs, 

So  dainty  and  so  neat, 
A  heavy  laden  hummer, 

He'd  tapped  at  every  door 
Of  the  sweetest  flowers  of  summer — 

Tasting  their  dainty  store. 

But  now  'tis  sad  to  tell, 

It  chanced  upon  his  road. 
There  lay  a  lovely  sparkling  well 

Within  the  lonely  wood. 
'Twas  a  little  sparkling  well, 

The  children  often  went 
Into  that  pleasant  mossy  dell. 

Where  happy  hours  they  spent. 


# 


m 


A 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


205 


But  the  lieavy-laJen  Lee, 
Dashed  by  the  summer  rain, 

Fell  I  splashing  in  quite  hopelessly, 
Nor  could  get  out  again. 

Now,  children,  what  d'ye  think  ? 

A  friend  was  on  his  track. 
For  little  '  Ned '  had  been  to  school 

And  now  was  coming  back ; 
So  running  to  the  well 

His  chubby  hands  to  lave. 
He  saved  the  little  struggling  bee 

From  an  early  watery  grave. 

Ned  handled  him  so  tenderly, 

Drying  him  in  the  sim. 
That  very  soon  he  flew  away 

With  a  merry,  happy  hum. 
Even  to  save  a  bee, 

And  treat  it  gently,  too. 
Is  the  sign  of  a  loving  heart, 

Happy,  kind,  and  true. 

Joanna  McKean. 


WHAT  IS   HAPPINESS? 

A  SHADOW  always  moves,  or  remains  still, 
with  its  original ;  and  so  Happiness  is 
truly  the  shadow  of  Contentment,  for  where  this 
is  you  will  always  surely  find  the  other. 


BIBLE    WOEDS. 

HyPOCRITES. 

HYPOCRITES,  who  '  pray  standing  in  the 
corners  of  the  streets ' — this  is  the  well- 
known  expression  of  the  Gospel  of  St.  Matthew. 
The  word  hypocrite  signifies  men  wearing 
masks,  as  stage-players  did — seeming  to  be 
what  they  really  were  not. 

The  practice  of  praying  in  the  streets  is  still 
common  in  the  East. 

The  Turk  who,  at  the  hour  of  prayer,  is  on 
the  road,  or  from  any  reason  unable  to  attend 
mosque,  never  fails  to  attend  the  duty  of  his 
religion,  whatever  he  may  happen  to  be  doing. 

Immediately  the  bell  sounds  from  the  mosque 
he  spreads  his  handkerchief  on  the  ground,  seats 
himself  cross-legged  upon  it,  and  says  his 
prayers,  even  though  it  be  in  the  open  market- 
place ;  and  having  finished,  he  jumps  up  briskly 
and  is  away  to  business  again,  as  smart  as  ever 
for  a  bargain. 


RAGAMUFFIN    TOM. 

By  F.  E,  Partridge. 
CHAI'TER    I. A    MUDDY    BATH. 

MR.  LUCAS  and  his  two  little  girls,  Mar- 
garet and  Kate,  had  just  paid  a  visit  to 
Westminster  Abbey,  and  were  on  their  way  to 
the  pier  near  the  bridge.  There  they  were  to 
meet  Mrs.  Lucas  and  little  sister  Polly,  who 
with  Aunt  Susan  were  to  join  them,  when  all 


j'-,^.<\i'n. 


woidd  proceed  together  in  a  steamer  to  Green- 
wich, there  to  spend  the  rest  of  the  day — a  great 
treat  to  the  children. 

The  old  pier  has  given  way  to  the  embank- 
ment, and  many  changes  have  taken  place  since 
that  day,  so  no  one  need  look  for  the  pier,  up 
and  down  which  Mr.  Lucas  and  the  two  child- 
ren walked,  watching  the  steamers  as  they 
passed  to  and  fro,  and  looking  down  into  the 
muddy  water,  so  different  now  from  the  days, 
long  ago,  when  salmon  abounded  in  the  Thames. 


206 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


'Look  at  tlie  nrad-larks  1 '   said  Mr.  Lucas. 

'  Where  ?'  aslceJ  Kate,  gazing  into  tlie  air.  '  I 
never  heard  of  tliem,  and  I  don't  see  any  birds.' 

Her  father  lauglied  and  said,  neither  did  ho ; 
moreover,  slie  would  not  find  them  mentioned 
in  any  hoolc  about  birds. 

Kaie  and  Margaret  were  quite  puzzled;  they 
knew  that  the<r  fat'.er  was  joking,  but  what 
was  the  joke  V 

After  letting  them  wonder  for  a  minute  or 
two,  Mr.  Lucas  explained  that  he  meant  the 
boys  who  were  running  about  on  the  river  banks. 
They  were  tlie  mud-larks. 

The  pier  had  become  crowded  with  people, 
who  were  waiting  for  the  boats  plying  up  and 
down  the  river.  All  at  once  there  was  a  scream, 
and  everybody  rushed  to  the  left  side  of  the 
pier.  What  Avas  the  matter  ?  It  was  by  no 
means  easy  to  find  out.  Some  said  that  a 
woman  had  fallen  into  the  water,  and  others 
said  that  it  was  a  child. 

Presently  the  crowd  opened  a  little,  and  to  Mr. 
Lucas's  horror  he  saw  poor  little  Polly  covered 
with  mnd,  a  piteous  object  indeed!  Her  mother 
knelt  beside  her  trying  to  help  and  comfort  her. 
The  pretty  pink  i'rock  her  sisters  had  made  for 
her  Avas  one  mass  of  black,  slimy  mud.  Mud 
streamed  from  lier  hair,  it  droppeil  from  the  ends 
of  her  fingers,  and  from  the  tip  of  her  little  snub 
nose,  poor  little  snub  I  Her  mother  had  just 
wiped  her  eyes  for  her,  but  Polly  was  too  dazed 
to  cry. 

Near  by  stood  one  of  the  very  boys  whose 
gambols  Alargarot  and  Ivatehad  been  watching  ; 
he  it  was  who  had  saved  Polly.  He  saw  her  fall, 
and  instantly  jumped  into  the  mixture  of  mud 
and  water  on  the  bank  of  the  river.  Had  he 
not  been  so  quick  she  must  have  been  smothered. 

There  was  no  time  for  inquiries  as  to  how  the 
necide-nt  had  hap])oned.  Mr.  Lucas  gave  the 
Ijoy  a  present,  and  asked  his  name  and  address, 
which  he  wrote  down  in  his  pocket-book. 

Of  course,  all  idea  of  proceeding  on  the 
j)leasure-trip  was  given  up,  the  chief  thing  was 
to  get  the  poor  little  sufferer  home  as  fast  as 
possible.  The  thought  crossed  Kate's  mind, 
'  Polly,  as  usual,  has  spoilt  our  fun.'  She  glanced 
at  her  elder  sister  to  see  whether  she  also  thought 
so,  but  Margaret  was  intent  on  her  mother's 
trouljle  and  stood  watching  to  see  whether  she 
could  be  of  any  use. 


After  the  mud  had  been  removed  to  a  certain 
extent  by  means  of  the  family's  ])oeket-handk-er- 
chiefs  (Kate  thinking  to  herself,  '  What  slinli  we 
do  if  we  want  them  for  our  noses  '?'),  Polly  was 
■wrapped  in  a  spare  shawl,  carried  up  the  ste|)s 
leading  from  the  road  to  the  pier,  and  as  soon, 
as  a  cab  could  be  jirocured  the  whole  party 
turned  homeward. 

As  they  drove  along,  Polly  became  paler  and 
paler.  Kate's  heart  smote  her  now  fm-  her 
hard  an<l  selfish  thoughts,  and  she  tried,  by 
jjointing  out  various  olijects  of  interest  in  tlie' 
streets,  to  amuse  her  little  sister ;  but  it  was  of 
no  use,  Polly  was  too  ill :  and  at  length  they 
all  subsided  into  silence,  the  last  remark  being- 
made  by  Mrs.  Knox — Aunt  Susan — who  said 
crossly,  '  No  good  ever  comes  of  gadding  and 
pleasuring.' 

Mrs.  Lucas  hardly  knew  how  the  accident 
had  hap]5ened.  They  were  all  coming  towards 
the  steps,  she  holding  Pollv  by  the  hand,  wheii 
all  at  once  the  latter  cried  out,  '  There's  father  1  "■ 
and  twisting  her  hand  out  of  her  mother's,  she 
rushed  forward.  In  a  moment  ithadallhappened: 
the  scream  had  been  uttered  by  Mrs.  Lucas,  who 
reached  the  pier  just  in  time  to  take  her  child 
from  the  boy  who  saved  her  life. 

Polly  was  ver\-  ill.  This  muddy  bath  and 
the  flight  brought  on  a  low  fever,  which  took 
some  time  to  cure.  As  the  summer  advanced 
and  she  got  better  she  was  able  to  enjoy  the  air 
in  the  dear  old  garden,  and  it  was  with  unfeigned 
pleastire  that  her  sisters  saw  her  once  again 
lying  in  her  blue  and  white  hammock  under  the- 
elm-tree,  and  ready  to  be  amused  when  they  had 
a  little  leisure  to- devote  to  her. 

Kate  even  made  up  her  mind  to  give  Pollv  a^ 
favourite  doll  of  her  own,  which  was  dressed  in 
a  smart  blue  frock,  and  had  long  been  an  object 
greatly  desired  by  the  little  sistsr. 

Once  Kate  had  been  angry  with  her  about  this- 
very  dolly,  for  the  naughty  j^uss  had  taken  it. 
during  its  owner's  absence  at  school,  and  had 
picked  the  wax  face  with  her  .sharp  finger-nails,, 
so  that  when  Mr.  Lucas  happened  to  cast  his- 
eye  on  ]ioor  Rose  he  remarked  that  she  must, 
have  had  the  small-pox  I 

Kate  had  now  forgiven  all  this,  and  willingly 
gave  her  favourite  to  Polly,  who  cuddled  her  up' 
and  went  to  sleep  with  her  in  her  arms. 
(To  be  continued.) 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


207 


THE    ENGINEER'S    PATTERN. 

THEEE  are  some  people  who  go  about  tte 
world  with  their  eyes  shut,  which  means, 
that  they  never  take  trouble  to  leam  from  what 
they  see  going  on  around  theui;  as  the  Russian 
jiroverb  describes  them,  '  They  go  through  the 
forest  and  see  no  firewood.' 

Not  so  was  it  with  men  ■\^'ho  have  made  their 
name  in  the  world, — these  famous  ones  are  always 
ready  to  learn  from  example,  from  nature  most  of 
all.  ■ 

Sir  I.  Brimel,  one  of  the  greatest  engineers  of 
modem  times,  took  his  first  lesson  for  the  Thames 
Tunnel  from  the  tiny  ship-worm.  He  saw  how 
the  creature  bored  the  wood  with  its  head,  first 
in  oue  direction,  then  in  another,  till  the  arched 
way  was  complete,  and  then  daubed  over  the 
i'oof  and  sides  with  a  kind  of  varnish  ;  and,  by 
copying  the  work  exactly,  on  a  larger  scale, 
Brunei  was  in  the  end  enabled  to  finish  the 
Thames  Tunnel ;  and  now,  after  many  years,  a 
j-ailway  lias  been  made  there,  and  the  trains  run 
•daily  imder  the  river  bed. 


BIRDS   PECK   THE    BEST    FRUIT. 

THAT  is  generally  the  best  fruit  which  the 
birds  take  to  pecking ;  and  so.  Slander  and 
Mahce  usually  pick  out  the  worthiest  and  most 
innocent  objects  for  their  tongue. 


look  so  cold. 


OTHER   PEOPLE'S    FEELINGS. 

,.LG-A  1  Olga  I  comedown!     "VMiat 
are  you  doing  ? ' 

'  I'm  tumming,  sister  ! '  said 
little  Olga;  '  but  just  let  me  wrap 
my  cloak — it's  only  my  old  one 
— round  the  poor  Cupid :  he  did 
Even  Fido  has  a  coat  on  to-day.' 
'  You  funny  little  thing  I '  said  sister  Helen, 
as  she  lifted  Olga  from  her  perilous  position. 

'  Cupid  can't  feel,  dear ;  run  and  put  the 
■cloak  indoors  and  come ;  we  shall  be  late  for 
school.' 

'  Are  you  sure  it  can't  feel,  sister  ? '  asked 
Olga  seriously,  as  she  trotted  quickly  by  her 
sister's  side;  '  because  often  people  do  feel  when 
•we  think  they  don't.' 


But  the  door  of  the  kindergarten  prevented 
the  necessity  of  a  reply.  Olga  was  left  there 
whilst  Helen  went  a  few  doors  further  to  the 
High  School. 

Heleu  was  clever  and  enjoyed  her  lessons,  but 
one  of  her  schoolfellows,  a  heavy-looking  girl, 
found  them  terribly  difficult,  and  to-day,  as 
usiuxl,  she  was  kept  in  to  learn  them  afresh. 
She  did  not  seem  ashamed,  slie  only  looked 
sullen  and  indifferent  as  ever;  and  as  Heleu  re- 
turned to  the  class-room  for  a  hook  she  had  for- 
gotten she  saw  Amelia  in  her  accustomed 
corner,  listlessly  tjying  to  commit  her  lines  to 
memor^^ 

'  I  wonder  she  does  not  feel  ashamed  to  be  al- 
ways in  disgrace,'  thought  Helen,  as  she  turned 
away. 

Suddenly  Olga's  words  flashed  into  her  mind, 
'  People  often  feel  when  we  thhik  they  don't.' 
Helen  stopped — thought  seriously  for  a  minute, 
and  then  went  back  to  Amelia.  '  Let  me  help 
you,'  she  said  gently  ;  '  you  find  this  learning 
difficult,  but  you  know  you  do  so  much  better 
than  all  of  us  at  the  paintulg  class  that  you 
must  not  mind  having  a  little  difficulty  with 
your  history.  It's  only  fair — isn't  it'?'  concluded 
Helen  gaily. 

Helen  had  learnt  something  from  her  baby 
sister  after  all — she  was  throwing  a  warm  cloak 
of  sj'mpathy  over  that  poor  cold  heart.  Amelia's 
apathetic  look  vanished. 

'How  kind  you  are  to  say  thatl'  she  said, 
tears  filKng  her  eyes. 

'I  am  not  kind,'  laughed  Helen;  'I  only  tell 
you  the  truth.  The  girls  all  say  they  would 
give  anything  to  paint  as  well  as  you  do.' 

Those  words  of  Helen's  fell  like  dew  on 
Amelia's  thirsty  heart.  ^  Painting  was  her  one 
gift,  but  she  was  almost  unconscious  of  it,  so 
depressed  was  she  by  her  sense  of  inferioritj'  in 
the  general  run  of  lessons.  She  had  lost  heart, 
and  almost  became  as  stupid  as  she  was  con- 
sidered. From  that  day  things  changed.  Find- 
ing she  had  one  gift  which  the  girls  (her  little 
world,  remember)  would  '  give  anything '  to 
possess,  she  brightened  Tip,  found  courage  to 
attack  her  tasks,  and  the  difficulties  vanished. 

And  Olga's  baby  words  caused  all  this ! 
'What  good  we  might  all  do  if  we  could  only  re- 
member that  '  people  often  feel  when  we  think 
they  don't  :•  E.  A.  B. 


208 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


Poor  Cupid's  Feelings. 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


209 


The  Biscuits  gone ! 
K  >; 


210 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


PLAY-  GARDENS. 

,  H,  Hans,  it  really  is  too 
Lad  of  yon,'  sobbed  little 
Gretclien;  'yon  promised 
to  keep  the  bisciiitrt  auntie 
gave  you,  and  you've  eaten 
them  every  one,  and  now 
we  can't  play  shop  I  Oh  I 
oh:  oh!' 

Hans  felt  veiy  much 
ashamed  of  himself;  he  had 
not  meant  to  be  greedy, 
but  he  and  Dash  between 
them  really  had  finished  the  whole  bagfull. 
There  was  not  one  left  I  He  thrust  bis  hand 
in  to  make  sure,  and  though  the  fingers  came 
through  tlie  paper,  no  biscuit  came  with  them. 

'  Don't  cry,  Gretchen,'  said  he  at  last,  sorrow- 
fully; 'I  can't  think  how  I  forgot:  I  won't  do  it 
again.' 

But  Gretchen  had  set  her  mind  on  the  bis- 
cuits for  a  shop,  and  would  not  be  paciiied,  until 
at  last  her  mother  came  out  to  know  what  the 
terrible  sobs  \yere  about. 

Hans  spoke  up  like  a  man,  and  at  once 
confessed  his  fault.  '  Auntie  gave  me  a  bag  of 
biscuits  for  repeating  my  poetry  so  well,  and 
Gretchen  and  I  settled  we  would  play  shop  with 
them ;  but  on  the  road  home  I  quite  forgot 
about  the  shop,  and  I  eat  son>e,  and  threw  some 
to  Dash,  and  some  to  auntie's  pigeons,  and 
they're  all  gone  1 '  And  Hans  showed  the  empty 
bag.  '  Could  you  give  Gretchen  some  biscuits, 
mother?'  he  said,  in  his  coaxing  way. 

But  mother  did  not  think  it  wise  to  give 
Gretchen  biscuits  just  because  she  cried  for 
them,  and  yet  she  was  sorry  for  the  little  girl's 
disappointment. 

'  Mind  you  keep  your  promises  next  time, 
little  Hans  1  Now  I  am  going  to  show  you 
how  to  play  a  far  more  interesting  game  than 
sho() — a  game  I  used  to  play  when  I  was  a 
little  girl.  Find  two  flat  boards — the  sides  of 
that  deal  box  you  use  for  your  shop  will  be  just 
the  thing,  Gretchen.' 

Gretchen  forgot  her  tears  and  ran  to  fetch 
the  boards.  '  Now  each  of  these  boards  is  to  re- 
present a  pleasure-garden  :  we  will  plan  the 
walks  first.  Get  your  little  wheelbarrow  full  of 
nice  dry  sand,  Hans.     Now  arrange  a  straight 


wide  path  down  the  centre — so  1 '  And  mother 
made  a  little  path  along  the  boards  with  th& 
sand.  '  Now  we  will  mark  out  a  round  flower- 
bed on  one  side  and  a  grass  lawn  opposite  it; 
then,  lower  down  we  must  have  different  shaped 
beds — heart-shaped,  and  diamond-shaped  ;  and 
then  a  long  bed  at  tlie  end  of  the  garden,  run- 
ning all  along  the  board.  These  beds  must  be- 
made  ef  wet  sand,  because  the  flowers  will  stand 
better  in  it.  I  will  make  the  beds  if  you  will- 
pick  me  a  few  flowers,  red,  and  blue,  and  pink.' 

This  was  really  interesting  I  the  boards  were- 
rapidly  covered,  and  really  looked  like  a  newly 
dug  garden  in  early  spring  before  anything  had 
come  up ;  but  when  the  children  returned  with 
their  flowers  the  empty  beds  were  quickly  con- 
verted into  brilliant  masses  of  colour.  The 
petals  of  flowers  were  generally  used  instead  of 
the  whole  flowers,  as  the  garden  was  on  so  small 
a  scale. 

The  long  bed  at  the  end  was  made  to  slope, 
and  it  was  most  startlingly  effective  as  a  ribbou 
border — made  from  scarlet  geraniums,  yello-w 
calceolarias,  and  pink  sweet-williams. 

'  It's  a  beautiful  game  1 '  declared  both  the- 
children,  as  they  gazed  with  raptxirous  eyes  at 
the  transformed  boards. 

'  It's  a  game  you  can  play  in  all  sorts  of 
■ways,'  said  mother,  as  they  -walked  towards  the- 
house,  each  child  carefully  carrying  the  garden- 
board  to  show  father.  '  You  can  arrange  forest 
scenes  with  tiny  bits  of  fir,  or  you  can  even 
have  lakes,  by  putting  water  in  the  lid  of  a  tin. 
box,  but  of  course  you  must  hide  the  sides 
with  moss ;  and  you  can  make  a  field  with 
moss,  and  rail  it  in  -with  bits  of  matches.  But 
you  will  be  able  to  think  of  plenty  of  new  ar- 
rangements, no  doubt.' 

'  It's  the  best  game  in  the  -world  1 '  said 
Gretclien,  decidedly ;  '  and  I'm  glad  Hans  ate 
the  biscuits,  or  mother  might  never  have  shown 
it  us.' 

'  I  won't  do  it  again,  though/  said  Hans,  in  a 
low  voice.  E.  A.  B. 


TRIED  AS    BY    FIRE. 

A  GILT  object  may  appear  as  good  as  a 
gold  one  until  it  is  tried  in  the  fire ;  and  it 
is  the  furnace  of  temptation  that  proves  of  what 
metal  we  are  made.  A.  L.  0.  E. 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


211 


MIXED    PICKLES. 

{flontinued  jrom  i>agc  203.) 
OIIAPTER  XIV. BEPPO  IN  TROUBLE. 

FAR  worse  tronble  than  '  cat '  or 
'  mat '  came  to  poor  Beppo  a 
few  days  afterwards.  He  worked 
away  diligently  and  steadily  in 
the  garden,  and  was  always 
delighted  to  bring  home  his 
little  earnings  —  six  silver  shil- 
lings every  week, —  and  give 
them  to  old  Roger.  Hayes,  the 
gardener,  was  kind  to  him,  and  so  was  every 
one,  except  Jim  Dawson,  who  also  worked  in 
the  garden. 

But  then,  Jim  Uawson  was  kind  to  no  one, 
not  even  to  his  sister  iNIoll,  for  whom  he 
seemed -to  have  a  sort  of  rough  affection.  Still, 
Jim  Dawson  did  his  work  well  enough;  he 
was  very  strong  and  got  through  a  good  deal, 
if  he  did  idle  sometimes  when  Hayes's  back 
was  turned.  So  Hayes  was  glad  to  have  him. 
Now  Hayes  had  a  peach-tree,  of  which 
he  was  particularly  proud.  It  was  like  his 
child  to  him,  for  he  had  grown  it  from  a 
very  little  thing,  and  had  watched  it  day- 
by-day  in  the  spring,  when  its  beautiful  pink 
buds  became  pinky -white  flowers,  and  then 
dropped,  and  gave  way  to  little  hard  balls, 
green  and  round,  that  would  one  day  be  peaches. 
He  had  taken  off  some  of  these,  so  that  the 
rest  might  be  finer,  and  now  there  were  just 
four  beautiful  velvet  iseaches  on  the  little  tree. 
Such  beauties  they  wei-e  I  and  soon  would  come 
the  fruit -show;  and  how  delightful  it  would 
be  to  see  in  the  county  pajier,  that '  Jlr.  Hayes, 
head-gardener  to  Mr.  Seymour,  had  the  first 
prize  for  a  splendid  dish  of  peaches  grown 
•out-of-doors  1 ' 

Every  morning  and  every  evening,  and 
several  times  in  the  day,  came  Mr.  Hayes 
looking  after  those  treasures  of  his. 

Can  you  fancy  what  Mr.  Hayes's  good- 
tempered  face  looked  hke  when  one  day,  about 
twelve  o'clock,  he  came  past,  having  already 
paid  '  his  babies'  a  visit  once  that  morning,  and 
found  only  three '?  Only  three!  The  finest  of  all 
Tvasgone;  neatly  gathered  from  the  tree:  so  that 
there  could  he  no  suspicion  of  accident  in  the 
matter.     It  was  too  bad. 


Stooping  down,  Jlr.  Hayes  carefully  ex- 
amined the  ground  to  see  if  there  were  any 
traces  of  footsteps  by  which  he  could  discover 
the  thief. 

In  one  or  two  places,  the  ground  looked  a 
little  disturbed,  as  if  some  one  had  hastily 
covered  over  the  traces  of  steps  with  some  loose 
earth.  Certainly,  a  cunning  thief  had  been  at 
work,  and  Mr.  Hayes's  rage  grew  more  and 
more  violent ;  but  his  rage  was  quite  useless. 
Storm  at  the  two  boys,  Jim  and  Bepi>o,  he 
coidd,  and  he  did ;  question  all  the  other  gardeners, 
and  the  grooms,  and  John  the  coachman,  and 
the  kitchenmaid,  and  the  laundrymaid,  and 
the  girl  wdio  fed  and  plucked  the  fowls ;  all 
this  he  did,  but  nothing  could  bring  back  his 
peach,  and  every  one  seemed  equally  innocent 
in  the  matter.  Mr.  Hayes  was  very  angry, 
and  for  two  days  he  remained  so,  spending 
much  of  his  time  in  walking  about  that  part 
of  the  garden,  with  his  sharp  eyes  very  wide 
open,  ajnd  a  thick  stick  in  his  strong  hand. 

M'oe  betide  the  unlucky  thief  who  had  gone 
near  the  peach-tree  on  those  days  1 

But  by  the  third  day  Mr.  Hayes's  wrath 
had  cooled  a  little  ;  besides,  he  had  very  good 
news  from  a  brother  in  Australia  by  the 
morning  post ;  and  so  on  that  day  he  took 
a  look  at  the  three  peaches  that  were  left,  and 
then  went  away  whistling  '  Rule  Britannia  I ' 
It  was  about  the  only  tune  he  knew,  and  he 
whistled  it  whenever  things  went  well. 

It  was  a  pity  that  a  dark  cloud  should 
come  up  again  that  day  over  the  sunny 
landscape  of  Mr.  Hayes's  broad  red  face;  but 
it  is  a  fact  that,  on  coming  again  to  visit  liis 
darlings,  he  found  no  longer  three,  but  only 
two;  and  under  the  brick  wall  were  again  traces 
of  steps  carefully  dusted  over  with  earth,  as 
before. 

If  Mr.  Hayes  had  been  angry  before,  he  was 
now  simply  beside  himself  with  passion.  He 
did  not  storm,  neither  did  he  stamp  this  time, 
he  was  too  angry  for  that. 

Striding  along  the  garden -walk,  without 
any  distinct  idea  of  where  he  meant  to  go  or 
what  to  do,  Mr.  Hayes  encountered  Beppo, 
who  rose  up  from  his  weeding,  and  looked  as 
if  lie  were  about  to  speak.  But  the  child  shrank 
from  the  fmious  face  that  looked  down  at  him 
— shrank  away,  and  grew  pale  with  fear. 


212 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


Hnyes  looked  at  tim  steadily  for  a  moment, 
then  spoke  fiercely,  tliough  quietly,  trying  to 
control  himself. 

'  Well,  boy,  what  have  you  to  say  for  A'our- 
self?' 

Guilt  was  clearlj'  painted  on  Beppo's  face, 
and  in  every  line  of  his  trembling  figure  as  he 
stammered  out,  '  P'ease  —  Mr.  Haj-e  —  I  —  so 
sorry.     Not — mean — do  it,  sir  I ' 

'  Not  mean  I '  answered  Hayes  in  a  voice 
like  suppressed  thunder.  '  Sorry  I  what  can 
your  sorrow  do,   I'd  like  to  know  ?     Do  you 


know  what  you  have  done  ?  mischief  that  can 
never  be  mended  I ' 

'  Yes,  sir,'  said  Beppo,  humbly. 

'  Yes,  sir  I  No  excuse  I  You  little  foreign 
brat !  you  come  along  o'  me,  and  get  the  best 
thrashing  you  ever  had.     Come  on,  I  say ! ' 

He  seized  Beppo  by  the  collar,  and  marching 
him  in  front,  strode  towards  the  garden  tool- 
house.  There  were  plenty  of  sticks  there  that 
would  answer  his  purpose  of  severely  punishing 
the  wretched  little  criminal,  whose  cries  more- 
over would  attract  less  notice  there,  he  thought. 
{To  he  continued.) 


HAPPY    SUNDAY   AFTERNOONS.— No.  IV. 
WHAT   DOES    THE   BIBLE   SAY  ABOUT    GATEWAYS? 

An  easy  Exercise  for  little  learners  to  write  or  say  from  memory. 


A    QUAKER'S    CHARITY. 


A  POOR    man   passed   a   store  kept   b)'  a 
Quaker,  and  asked  of  him  a  job  of  work, 
or  a  Httle  money — it  would  be  a  real  charity. 

The  Quaker  replied  :  '  Friend,  I  do  not  know 
what  I  can  give  thee  to  do.  Let  me  see  :  thou 
mayest  take  my  wood  that  is  in  the  yard  up- 
stairs, and  I  will  give  thee  half-a-dollar.' 


The  man  was  glad  enough  to  do  it,  and 
when  it  was  finished  he  came  and  told  his. 
employer,  and  asked  if  there  was  anything  else  he 
could  do. 

'  Why,  friend,  let  me  consider.  Yea  I  thou 
mayest  take  it  all  down  again,  and  I  will  give 
thee  another  half-dollar.' 


THE  Zodiacal  sign  for  May  is 
Gemini,  an  old  Latin  word  mean- 
ing '  twins,'  and  it  is  this  figure  among 
tlie  heavenly  bodies  that  the  sun  enters 
on  the  twentieth  of  the  month. 

May  has  always  been  thought  a 
pleasant  month.  Coming  just  between 
spring  and  summer,  it  is  held  as  an 
emblem  of  the  early  or  joyous  part  of 
life,  and  so  in  ancient  times  was  pic- 
tured as  a  youth  with  a  lovely  coun- 
tenance clothed  in  a  robe  of  white  and 
gi-een,  embroidered  'with  hawthorn  and 
daffodils.  On  his  head  was  a  garland 
of  roses,  in  one  hand  he  held  a  lute,  and 
on  the  forefinger  of  the  other  sat  a 
nightingale. 

The  Saxons  used  to  call  the  month 
Tri-miUvi,  or  Tri-michi,  because  the 
juices  of  the  young  spring  grass  in  the 
meads  were  so  nutritious  that  the  cows 
yielded  milk  three  times  in  a  day. 


7l': 


^^/fe^V^^^.^ 


-Y 


r214 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


RAGAMTIPFIN     TOM. 

(CoHd'nHfd/j-ompaje  206.) 
CHAPTEK   II. TOM. 

soon  as  it  was  possible, 
Jlr.  Lucas  sought  out  the 
boy  ^Yho  had  been  the 
weans  of  saving  PolI3^ 
He  had  some  trouble  in 
finding  him,  for  '  Tom, 
liiver  Alley,'  was  not  a 
very  easy  address. 
At  last,  however,  he  was  suc- 
cessful. It  was  astonishing  how 
many  boys  answered  to  the  name 
of  Tom,  as  soon  as  it  was  known 
that  a  gentleman  was  seeking  for 
•one  without  any  intention  of  punishing  liini  for 
the  various  faults  which  were  only  too  common 
among  the  hoys  of  the  neighbourhood,  the  con- 
.sciousncss  of  which  made  them,  as  a  rule,  fight 
shy  of  inquiries.  The  Tom  in  question  bore  a 
good  character  in  Eiver  Alley,  where  evidently 
good  characters  were  rare,  an  old  woman  an- 
^swering  a  remark  of  Mr.  Lucas  by  saying, 
"*  That  Tom  was  a  power  too  honest  to  get  on.' 

The  boy  had  no  belongings  of  his  o^^'n.  His 
■father  and  mother  having  died  long  ago,  he  had 
been  adopted  by  some  people  almost  as  poor  as 
-people  could  be ;  and  such  being  the  case,  Mr. 
Lucas  did  not  hesitate  in  offering  to  take  him 
home  and  train  him  up  to  gain  his  livelihood  in 
a  better  manner  than  he  coidd  do  among  his 
present  associates. 

Tom  was  very  willing  to  go  with  his  new 
friend,  who,  on  the  way  home,  stopped  at  an 
outfitter's,  where  he  purchased  the  clothes  neces- 
.-sary  to  make  the  lad  look  respectable.  They 
■were  done  up  in  a  parcel,  which  their  new  owner 
•carried  on  a  stick  over  his  shoulder.  He  felt 
proud  and  happy  as  he  trudged  along  beside 
Mr.  Lucas. 

Arrived  at  The  Hollies,  as  the  house  in  which 
the  Lucases  lived  was  named,  the  question  was, 
what  to  do  with  Tom's  rags  ?  It  was  solved 
by  Mrs.  Lucas,  who  proposed  that  a  tub  of 
water  should  be  put  in  tke  outhouse,  where, 
after  a  good  wash,  Tom  should  array  himself  in 
-liis  new  garments,  a  bonfire  being  made  of  the 
-old  ones.  So  it  was  arranged,  and  Tom  came 
.forth  so  changed  that  Mr.  Lucas  said  he  was 


sure  his  old  Westminster  companions  would  not 
know  him. 

Tom  was  very  quick  in  learning  to  do  many 
things  about  the  house  and  garden,  and  made 
himself  most  useful.  Mrs.  Knox  took  him 
imder  her  special  protection.  She  offered  to 
teach  him  to  read  and  ^v^ite ;  an  offer  he  very 
gratefully  accepted,  for  he  was  reallj^  anxious  to 
improve. 

There  was  much  discussion  as  to  what  name 


>/.J^, 


Tom  should  bear,  as  he  had  never  known  any 
but  Tom.  At  length  it  was  decided  that  Lark 
would  be  just  the  thing  for  a  surname,  in  remem- 
brance of  Mr.  Lucas's  joke  on  the  day  of  Polly's 
tumble  into  the  nmd.  So  Thomas  Lark  he  was 
called. 

Sirs.  Knox  was  in  her  element.     She  was  so 

interested  in  what  she  called  her  training  of  '  the 

boy,'   that  it   quite  absorbed  her,   and   she  for- 

.  got  to  rail  at  the  rest  of  the  household.     This 

was  such  a  relief  that  no  one   ever  thou.'^'ht  of 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


21£ 


investigating  the  cause,  and  Tom  being  so  clever 
jit  Lis  work,  there  seemed  but  httle  she  could  find 
fault  with :  not  so,  however,  thought  Mrs.  Knox. 
She  preached  to  him  about  the  sins  she  felt  sure 
he  had  committed,  or  would  commit^  until  he 
hardly  knew  what  to  think  of  himself. 

In  this  manner  passed  many  weeks,  and  the 
summer  was  at  its  height.  Tom  began  to  feel 
the  burden  of  his  wickedness  as  depicted  by  Mrs. 
Knox  too  much  for  him.  He  had  begvm  to 
hate  the  mere  sight  of  her.  She  would  attack 
him  while  at  his  work  in  the  garden,  and,  after 
making  him  thoroughly  miserable,  would  walk 
away  looking  the  very  picture  of  souff  self- 
conceit.  As  soon  as  her  back  was  turned 
Tom  would  relieve  his  mind  and  temper  by 
making  faces  at  her  retreating  figure ;  the  more 
hideous  the  grimace,  the  better  he  felt.  One 
fatal  day  she  suddenly  turned  and  caught  him 
in  the  act  I 

Mrs.  Knox  could  hardly  beUevc  her  eyes,  and 
for  a  moment  she  stood  silent  with  disgust  and 
anger.  She  did  not  choose  to  realise  that  she 
had  brought  the  insult  on  herself.  After  a 
moment  of  silence  the  storm  burst  forth,  and 
the  amount  of  wickedness  of  which  Tom  was 
accused  would  have  fitted  out  a  dozen  pick- 
pockets handsomely.  Ingratitude  was  the  least 
fault  which  he  possessed,  according  to  her 
verdict. 

Poor  Tom  I  He  knew  how  naughty  he  had 
been,  and  like  many  another  who  has  rashly 
given  way  to  temper,  he  would  have  been  only 
too  thankful  to  recall  the  past  hour.  How 
differently  he  felt  he  would  act  if  the  time  could 
come  over  again '.  It  seemed  to  him  now  that 
there  really  had  not  been  any  relief  to  his 
M-ounded  feelings  in  the  faces  he  had  made. 
He  could  not  make  it  out,  so,  after  standing 
thinking  the  matter  over  for  a  moment  or 
two,  and  endeavouring  to  assist  his  ideas  by 
Bcratching  his  head,  he  gave  it  up. 

Ungrateful  he  truly  was,  for  he  felt  that  he 
could  not  stay.  What  would  his  master  and 
mistress  think  of  him  when  they  heard  of  what 
he  had  done?  It  did  not  occur  to  him  that 
they  might  take  his  part.  No,  he  made  up  his 
mind  that  he  must  take  his  chance  of  a  welcome 
at  River  Alley  if  nothing  better  tm-ned  up,  but 
he  thought  that  he  should  be  sure  to  find  some 
Baeajia  of  making  a  living. 


Why  not  ?  He  was  strong,  willing  to  work^ 
and  he  knew  he  was  honest.  This  quality  of 
his  had  been  considered  a  misfortune  among  his^ 
former  associates,  but  he  knew  now  that  the  un- 
taught inward  feeling  he  had  always  had  that 
fair  dealing  was  the  right  thing  was  his  best 
chance  of  success  in  life.  How  he  had  come'  by 
this,  his  only  inheritance,  he  knew  not,  nor  had  he 
ever  thought  about  the  matter  ;  it  was  a  natural 
strength  of  character  which  had  kept  him  honest 
among  thieves  and  ruffians. 

Now  he  had  learnt  to  pray,  and  had  been 
gradually  stormg  in  his  mind  many  valuable  rules 
for  his  life.  Alas  I  all  this  was  stopped  by  the 
outbreak  between  jMrs.  Knox  and  himself.  '  He 
must  go,  he  must  go.'  That  was  the  one  thought 
which  forced  itself  into  his  mind  and  excluded, 
all  others. 

(To  he  contintied.) 


A    TRUE    SAYING. 

Obedience  is  much  more  seen  in  little  things^ 
than  in  great. 


A   HORSE    ATJDIEK"CE. 

A  PRUSSIAN  officer  relates  that,  shortly 
after  the  retaking  of  Orleans  by  the 
Germans,  he  happened  to  be  passing  through  a 
deserted  street,  and  on  coming  in  front  of  what 
had  formerly  been  one  of  the  most  popular  cafes 
of  the  town,  but  which  was  now  supposed  to  be 
closed,  he  heard  the  deep  vibrating  tones  of 
a  grand  piano,  played  apparently  by  some 
master-hand. 

There  was  also  heard  in  the  intervals  a. 
trampling  as  of  many  feet,  betokening  a  large- 
audience., 

Curious  to  know  how  such  a  thing  could, 
happen  so  soon  after  the  confusion  into  which; 
the  town  had  beeii  thrown  by  the  recent  battle,, 
he  entered,  and  found  seated  on  the  music-stool, 
a  Prussian  train  soldier,  while  all  around  him  ia 
the  vast  audience  hall — which  had  been  bril- 
liantly lighted  up — and  pressing  close  up  to  the' 
platfomi,  were  the  chargers  of  his  troop,  a 
large  number  of  horses  that  nearly  filled  the- 
house,  standing  -with  pointed  ears  and  erect 
heads,  eagerly  listening  to  the  music. 


216 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


A  Horse  Audience. 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young.  , 

i 


218 


Sunday  Reading  for'  the  Young. 


JACKO'S    TORMENTEES. 

,0011  Jacko  was  fond  of  sitting 
in  the  sunshine — '  basking,'  as 
we  call  it.  It  reminded  him 
so  mnch  of  the  warmth  of  liis 
sunny  home  in  the  Eastern 
land  that  he  remembered  so 
well,  before  they  put  liim  on  the 
nasty  noisy  ship,  and  brought  him  across  the 
sea. 

But  Jacko  was  constantly  tormented  with 
flies.  They  would  not  let  him  alone.  Just  at 
the  happiest  moment,  when  dozing  off  to  sleep, 
he  would  feel  the  horrid  little  things  from  the 
tip  of  his  nose  to  the  tip  of  his  tail,  and  he  re- 
quired to  be  very  nimble  to  catch  even  one  of 
them. 

They  made  him  very  angry,  and  in  the  hot 
glare  English  sunshine  poor  Jacko  sadly 
missed  the  leafy  glades  of  his  native  forest, 
where  it  was  easy  to  drive  away  these  pests 
with  a  branch,  or,  by  leaping  from  tree  to  tree, 
find  a  fresh  resting-place,  secure  from  their 
assaults. 


WONDEEFUL    ESCAPES. 

THE  SEAL-HUNTERS. 

THE  Greenlanders  catch  seals  by  tlirowing 
harpoons  at  them,  to  which  are  attached 
by  pieces  of  cord,  large  bladders  filled  with  air, 
that  serve  as  floats,  and  point  out  the  direction 
the  wounded  seal  has  taken,  and  when  killed 
serve  to  keep  it  near  the  surface. 

Two  men,  connected  with  the  Mission  Station, 
went  out  seal-hunting  together.  Nathaniel  had 
been  before ;  but  his  brother  knew  nothing  about 
managing  a  kayak,  as  the  Greenland  boats  are 
called.  Nathaniel  soon  killed  a  Neitsersoak,  one 
of  the  largest  kind  of  seals ;  and  he  then  saw 
liis  brother  on  an  ice-floe,  in  some  danger  from  a 
large  seal  which  he  had  wounded.  He  left  his 
own  dead  seal,  kept  floating  by  the  buoyant 
bladder,  and  went  to  help  his  brother,  and  when 
they  had  secured  the  second  seal  they  looked 
round  for  the  kayaks  at  the  edge  of  the  ice,  and 
were  horrified  to  find  that  the  Avind  had  hlowa. 
them  off  to  sea,  alid  also  the  piece  of  ice  upon 
which  they  stood. 

The  poor  fellows  had  learned  to  pray;  they 


thought  of  the  Great  Saviour,  about  whom  the 
missionaries  had  told  them,  and  they  knelt 
down  on  the  ice  and  prayed  that  He  would 
make  a  way  of  escape  for  them,  from  what  now 
seemed  certain  death. 

Suddenly,  they  perceived  that  the  dead  seal 
was  floating  towards  them,  and  as  it  came- 
nearer  and  nearer,  hope  sprung  Tip  that  they 
AA'ould  be  saved ;  but  how '?  Even  now,  when 
they  had  secured  it,  how  could  a  dead  seal  de« 
liver  them  ? 

At  last,  Nathaniel  resolved  to  trust  himself 
astride  upon  the  seal,  and  by  the  help  of  his- 
paddle,  which  he  had  kept  in  his  hand  when  be- 
lauded on  the  ice,  set  out  and  try  to  discover  the- 
kayaks. 

The  waves  often  went  over  him,  yet  he  kept 
his  seat,  and  the  exertions  he  made  in  paddling^ 
served  to  keep  him  from  being  frozen  by  the  icy- 
water. 

After  much  toil,  he  was  overjoyed  to  see 
his  boat  afar  off,  and  manfully  he  renewed  his- 
exertions  till  he  reached  her,  when,  having  suc- 
ceeded in  creeping  into  her,  he  paddled  off  after 
the  other,  and  found  that  too.  He  had  kept  hold 
to  the  seal,  and  with  both  prizes  he  returned  to 
the  ice-floe,  on  -which  his  brother  anxiously 
waited  his  fate. 

Having  regained  his  kayak,  the  brother 
fastened  his  seal  in  tow,  and  both  at  length, 
reached  home  in  safety. 

It  was  a  dangerous  adventure,  that  few  would 
care  to  experience  ;  but  Nathaniel  in  relating  it 
ever  looked  upon  their  preservation  as  a  signal 
answer  to  their  prayers,  not  to  be  ascribed  to- 
their  o-wn  skill  or  daring,  but  to  the  providence 
and  mercy  of  God  alone. 


WORKING   FOR    GOOD    AND    EVIL, 

THE  Bible  tells  us  that  '  All  things  work 
together  for  good,  to  tliose  who  love  God.'' 
Yes  I  but  those  very  same  things  work  to- 
gether for  evil  to  those  who  do  not  love  God. 

The  sailor  who  trims  his  sails,  and  steers  his- 
ship  with  the  winds,  is  brought  to  the  harbour 
and  haven  where  he  would  be ;  but  if  he 
tries  to  beat  against  them,  the  very  gales,  which 
would  have  carried  him  to  safety  will  over- 
whelm him.  F.  "\V.  R. 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


219 


THE  SQUIRREL  AND  THE  ROOKS. 


THERE  was  a  fine  squirrel  tliat  lived  ia  a 
tree, 
A  happier  squirrel  there  could  not  be  ; 
He  ran  u]i  and  down  as  the  ripe  nuts  fell, 
With  liead  over  lieels,  in  such  a  pell-mell. 

He  had  a  fur  tail,  so  hushy  and  thick, 
That  curled  o'er  his  back  with  many  a  flick ; 
So  bold  and  so  cunning,  his  meiTy  eyes  briglit. 
Kept  dancing  and  sparkling,  brimful  of  delight. 

But,  quite  discontented  with  all  his  good  fare, 
This  bold  little  squirrel  did  one  day  dare 
To  go  and  peep  into  a  rook's  nest  near. 
And  to  take  up  the  eggs  without  any  fear. 

But,  alas,  Master  Squirrel  might  have  seen  with 

one  eye 
The  old  rooks  just  hovering  around  close  by, 
Quite  ready  to  pounce  and  devour  him  outright. 
To  punish  him  well,  and  give  him  a  fright. 


So  down  jumped  the  squirrel,  and  off  flew  the 

crows. 
Determined  to  catch  him  and  give  him  a  dose 
Of  pecking  and  screaming  and   such'  a   great 

noise, 
For  his  robbing  them  of  their  maternal  joys. 

But  they  just  caught  his  tail,  of  which  he  was 

proud. 
And  gave  such  a  peck,  he  screamed  out  quite 

loud  ; 
So  he  made  up  his   mind,   some  day,  without 

fail. 
He'd  punish  these  rooks  for  pulling  his  tail. 

But  he  went  home  and  thought  o'er  what  he 

had  done. 
And  felt  quite  ashamed  of  taking  his  fun 
By  robbing  these  rooks.     And  I  am  glad  to  say 
He's  never  done  such  a  mean  thing  to  this  day. 
Joanna  McKean. 


MIXED     PICKLES. 


(Gontinxiei.  ft 

JI^OMIISrGr  towards  them,  the 
angry  man  and  his  prisoner 
met  Bryda,  singing  merrily. 

Her  song  soon  stopped  when 
she  saw  the  poor  little  criminal 
in  the  strong  grasp  of  Mr. 
Hayes,  who  was  policeman, 
judge,  jury,  lawyers,  gaoler,  and  executioner,  all 
at  once. 

'  "What  ii  the  matter  ?     What  has  he  done  ? ' 
she  gasped,  quite  frightened. 
Hajrp^  stopped. 

'Done!  the  little  varmint'.'  giving  Beppo  a 
shake  as  he  held  him  still ;  '  done.  Miss  Bryda  I 
Will  he  dare  look  you  in  the  face  again  ? 
Stolen  my  peaches,  two  of  them,  one  after 
the  other,  heartless,  greedy,  thankless  little 
monster  as  he  is !  Stolen  my  peaches  that  I 
hoped  would  get  the  prize- — aye,  he  can't  deny 
it!' 

'I  not  stolen  theml'  cried  Beppo,  in  bitter 
distress.  '  Oh,  Miss  Bryde  I  I  not, — I  never  done 
that  I  I  often  bad  boy — never  stole  I  never  I 
no  I  no  '.  no  I ' 

Bryda  remembered  the  baker's  roU,  and  quite 


onifage.  212.) 

believed  him.  He  was  hungry  then,  but  he 
did  not  steal. 

'  Oh,  Hayes  I  indeed,  indeed  I  am  sure  he 
is  telling  the  truth  1'  she  said,  earnestly;  'please 
don't  be  angry  with  him  till  you  are  quite  sure, 
at  least.' 

'  Lor,  Miss  Bryda,'  said  the  gardener,  im- 
patiently, '  you're  that  taken  up  with  the  sly 
little  rascal  you  don't  believe  butter  would 
melt  in  his  mouth.  But  he  spoke  up  and  said 
he  was  sorry  when  I  taxed  him  with  it  first. 
It's  only  the  sight  of  you  makes  him  bold, 
thinking  you'll  take  his  part  through  thick 
and  thin.  A  snealdng,  lying  little  thief  I  Never 
does  he  do  another  day's  work  here  ! ' 

'  Bliss  Bryde,'  said  Beppo,  with  flashing  e)'es 
in  which  there  were  no  tears,  '  I  not — I  never 
did — not  could — think  I — steal — tell  lies  I  I 
speak  de  truth  now,  and  then,  both,  only  I  did 
think  Mr.  Hayes  found  something  else,  and  I 
did  want  tell  him ' 

Here  Jim  Dawson,  who  had  been  looking 
on  at  the  little  scene,  stepped  up  to  Beppo 
suddenly,  slipixjd  his  hand  into  Beppo's  pocket, 
and  drew  out  a  peach-stone. 


220 


Sunday  Readixg  for  the  Young. 


Silence    fell    on    tlie    little    group.      Bryda, 
distressed  beyond  words,   looked   from  one   to 
the   other.     Beppo,  with   a   strange   expression 
efface,  looked  at  Jim,  who  stood  grinning  :  and 
Hayes,    after   looking   at    the    stone    for    some 
seconds  as  if  to  be  perfectly  certain  of  Beppo's 
crime,  pushed  his  hand  more  firmly  into  the 
boy's  collar,  strode  to  the  garden-house,  put 
him  in,  and  said  before  he  closed  the  door. 
'  Now,  my  lad.  it's  for  your  good.     You  bide 
there  and  think  of  the  flogging  you'll  get  so 
soon  as  I've  time  to  give  it  you  I ' 

Locking  the  door  on  the  outside,  he  strode 
away  -with  the  key  in  his  pocket,  leaving 
Beppo  to  his  miserable  expectations  of  the 
flogging  that  he  would  get :  no  light  punish- 
ment it  would  be  from  the  heavy  hand  of  an 
angrj'  man. 

If  Beppo  was  guilty,  then  miserable 
enough  he  was  likely  to  be,  with  the  burdens 
of  a  theft  and  a  lie  on  his  mind,  and  the 
prospect  of  punishment  to  come. 

If,  as  he  said,  though  appearances 
were  against  him,  he  was  innocent, 
then  he  need  not  be  very  miserable, 
for  a  good  conscience  would  be  his 
companion,  and  the  Friend  of  little 
children  would  send  him  comfort. 

Crouching  down  in  a  wretched  little 
heap  on  the  floor,  he  remained  so  for 
some  time,  not  crying,  not  trembling, 
but  apparently  thinking.    Then 
slowly  rising,   he   knelt   down 
in  a  corner ;   and,  clasping  his 
hands,  looked  through  the  little 
window  up  to  the  blue  skj'. 

He    need    not    look   to    any 
beautiful  angel  now,  whose  help  he  used  to  hope 
for.    He  had  another — better  Friend,  and  quietly 
he  said  half  aloud,  '  Kind  Lord  Jesus,  don't  for- 
get Beppo.     I  in  great  trouble,  Lord  Jesus  ! ' 

Was  he  guilty,  or  not '?     We  shall  see. 

CHAPTER  XV. UP  A  TREE. 

What  did  Bryda  do  when  her  little  playmate 
was  in  such  trouble  '?  Quite  as  miserable  as  if 
she  herself  were  the  criminal,  she  stood  still  for 
a  few  minutes  in  the  garden-path.  Would 
there  be  any  chance  of  coaxing  Hayes  to  for- 
give Beppo  ?  That  was  not  very  likely.  Mr. 
Hayes,  with  a  face  that  was  simply  one  frown 


all  over,  had  walked  off  in  the  other  direction, 

and  his  very  back  frowned  as  she  looked  after 

him.     No,  she  coiild  not  appease  Hayes  ;  but 

some  one  else  might  persuade  him  that  Beppo 

was  not  guilty.     Who  could  do  this  ?     Should 

Bryda  go  indoors  and  tell  the  grannies  all 

about  it  ?     That  would  not  be  of  much 

use.     It  woirld  take  so  long  to  make  them 

understand,   and   perhaps   even  then  they 

would  not  ■\\ish  to  interfere.     Uncle  Jack  ? 

He  had  gone  out.     Cousin  Salome  would 

be  very  sorry ;  but  she  could  not  come  out 

and  talk  to  Hayes. 


There  was  old  Eoger  I 

Bryda  would  run  ofl'  to  him  and  soon  get  him 
to  come  up  with  her  and  talk  to  the  angrN- 
Hayes.  But  she  must  be  quick ;  she  did  not 
know  how  soon  Hayes  might  carrj''  out  his 
threat  of  coming  back  to  punish  the  poor  little 
prisoner. 

Bryda  firmly  believed  he  was  innocent.  She 
did  not  understand  why  Mr.  Hayes  said  he  had 
confessed  to  having  stolen  the  peaches  ;  if  he  had 
done  so  she  was  sure  it  was  from  fright. 

'  And  I  am  sure  Hayes's  face  was  enough  to 
frighten  any  one,'  she  said  to  herself. 
{To  be  continued.) 


SuADAY  Reading  for  the  Young. 


221 


THE    TETJEST    CHARITY. 

A  LAWYER,  who  always  sought  to  make 
peace  among  his  clients,  placed  a  sort 
of  charity-box  in  his  office.  His  first  effort, 
after  hearing  the  one  side,  was  to  try  and  re- 
concile the  conflicting  parties,   and  he  always 


said  this  was  the  pleasantest  part  of  his  duty  : 
and,  if  successful,  he  never  failed  to  induce  his 
clients  to  give  a  donation  to  his  peace-maker's 
box.  In  this  manner,  in  one  year,  he  obtained 
nearly  sixty  pounds  for  the  poor,  a  sum  no  less 
surprising  than  ho;iourable  to  the  worthy  lawyer 


M.  d  i\(^ 


BAGAMTJFFIN     TOM. 

(Continued  from  page  215.) 

CHAPTER  III. AUNT  SUSAN. 

WITH  the  exception  of  Mrs.  Knox,  the 
family  which   Tom  was    intending  to 
quit  was  a  very  happy  one. 

The  children  were  fond  of  each  other,  and 
although  sometimes  a  feeling  of  jealousy  as  re- 
garded Polly  would  enter  Kate's  mind,  on  the 
whole  she  was  good  to  her  little  sister.  All 
three  dearly  loved  their  father  and  mother,  and 
all  three    feared   and   disliked  their   aunt    on 


account  of  her  unfortunate  love  of  scolding  and 
ungoverned  tongue  and  temper. 

There  had  been  great  consternation  among  the 
household  when  Mrs.  Knox  had  proposed  herself 
as  a  visitor  for  an  indefinite  time,  while  her 
husband  journeyed  to  Africa  on  business.  Mr. 
Lucas  would  have  declined  to  receive  her,  but 
his  wife  did  not  like  to  refuse  the  request  of  her 
only  sister,  and  so  it  was  arranged  for  her  to  come. 

During  the  few  days  that  Mr.  Knox  also  had 
been  there,  everytliing  went  smoothly  enough, 
for  the  bustle  of  preparation  for  his  long  journey 
took  away  the  thoughts  of  his  wife  from  fault- 


222 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


finding ;  moreover,  lie  was  the  one  person  in  the 
world  whom  she  really  loved,  and  she  was 
giieved.  and  subdued  by  the  contemplated  part- 
ing. The  shopping  necessary  on  account  of  his 
journey  was  a  great  amusement  to  the  two 
elder  girls,  and  they  were  very  useful  to  both 
uncle  and  aunt.  Mr.  Knox  was  very  fond  of 
the  cliildren,  and  left  strict  injunctions  with 
their  aunt  that  she  was  to  make  a  present,  in 
his  name,  to  each  of  them. 

One  day  she  went  out  alone,  and  was  absent 
an  unusually  long  time :  on  her  return  she 
announced  their  uncle's  wish  in  the  following 
manner, — 

'  I  dare  say  yoxi  have  all  wondered  at  my 
remaining  out  so  long ;  but  I  have  spent  the 
whole  morning  in  hunting  about  for  some  suitable 
as  well  as  useful  presents  for  the  children.  Their 
uncle  desired  me  to  give  something  to  each  ;  and 
I  must  say  that  I  have  been  agreeably  dis- 
appointed in  both  Jlargaret  and  Kate,  wlio  have 
made  themselves  much  more  useful  than  I 
expected,  and  therefore  I  have  been  less  reluctant 
than  I  mighthave  been  to  carry  out  my  husband's 
wish.  I  do  not  consider  that  presents  are  at  any 
time  necessary,  but  as  it  is,  I  hope  tliey  will  like 
the  trifles  I  have  selected.  They  will  arrive  this 
afternoon.' 

What  would  the  presents  be  ?  Kate's  thoughts 
ran  upon  this  interesting  subject  all  the  morning  : 
she  found  herself  writing  '  Present '  in  the  midst 
of  a  French  exercise,  and  was  altogether  so 
inattentive  that  she  got  several  bad  marks. 
During  their  afternoon  leisure  the  little  girls 
could  speculate  ^^ithout  danger,  and  speculate 
they  did.  Everything  was  thought  of,  from  a 
large  doU's-house,  which  they  would  very  much 
like,  to  a  small  work-box  or  a  set  of  crochet 
needles  in  a  neat  little  case. 

When  the  parcels  arrived  the  children  happened 
to  be  in  the  garden,  and  were  much  struck  with 
their  shape  and  size.  One  was  large  and  almost 
square,  another,  large,  flat  and  oval,  while  the 
third  was  small  and  of  no  particular  shape. 
Each  was  carefully  done  up  in  brown  paper, 
which  did  not  allow  a  glimiase  of  the  contents  to 
be  obtained.  They  were  taken,  by  3Irs.  Knox's 
orders,  straight  to  her  room,  where  no  child 
would  have  dared  to  intrude  without  per- 
mission. 

All  tea-time  the  children  were  on  the  tiptoe 


of  expectation.  Mrs.  Lucas  quietly  smiled  to 
herself  when  she  found  that  the  slices  of  bread 
and  butter  did  not  disappear  as  fast  as  usual ; 
she  remembered  her  own  childish  daj-s,  when 
her  appetite  went  away  at  the  thought  of  any 
pleasure. 

Directly  tea  was  over,  Mrs.  Knox  summoned 
the  whole  party  into  the  clrawing-room,  where 
she  had  placed  her  gifts.  Polly  clung  to  her 
mother  ;  the  child  was  so  shy  of  her  aunt  that 
she  lost  all  her  spirits  when  in  her  presence,  and 
to-day,  instead  of  running  on  laughing  and 
skipping  as  was  her  wont,  she  held  tight  to  her 
mother's  hand. 

As  they  all  entered  the  drawing-room  Mrs. 
Knox  said,  '  It  is  so  entirely  against  my  princijiles 
to  waste  money,  that  I  have  endeavoured  to  give 
my  nieces  things  that  will  be  useful,  and  I  hope 
also  ornamental,  though  I  must  say  I  have 
thought  more  of  the  former  than  of  the  latter 
qualitj'.' 

Every  one  looked  on  the  table,  naturally  ex- 
pecting to  see  the  presents  there,  but  nothing 
new  met  their  eyes.  Mrs.  Knox  pointed  to  tlie 
hearth-rug  on  which  was  placed  a  neat  brown 
coal-box;  leaning  against  a  chair  was  a  plain 
oval  tea-tray  with  a  line  of  gilding  round  the 
edge ;  and,  from  under  her  a]jrou,  Mrs.  Knox 
drew  forth  a  small  light  pair  of  coal-tongs, 
resembling  a  gigantic  pair  of  scissors. 

'  These  three  articles,'  said  she,  '  will  be  of  use 
to  you,  my  dear  Lucy,  as  well  as  being  remem- 
brances for  my  nieces  from  their  uncle.' 

For  a  few  moments  there  was  a  dead  silence, 
which  was  broken  by  Mrs.  Lucas  saying 
quietly,  '  Thank  you,  Susan.' 

Mr.  Lucas  had  beaten  a  hasty  retreat,  to 
conceal  the  laughter  he  could  not  repress. 
•  Margaret  was  the  first  of  the  children  to 
recover  from  her  astonishment.  She  gravely 
thanked  her  aunt,  and  lifted  up  the  tray,  sanng 
it  would  look  very  nice  at  tea-time.  Kate 
showed  her  disappointment  only  too  plainly,  and 
her  thanks  were  but  feeble. 

Mrs.  Knox  had  put  the  tongs  into  Polly's 
hand  ;  the  child  loolced  at  them  for  a  moment 
wonderingly,  then  gave  them  a  toss  ;  being  heavy 
for  her  little  hand,  they  flew  across  the  room, 
striking  the  lamp  which  stood  on  a  side-table, 
and  breaking  the  shade  into  a  thousand  pieces. 

Mrs.  Knox  slightly  tossed  up  her  head,  giving 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


223 


fi  sniff  at  the  same  time,  an  old  habit  of  hers 
■which  indicated  a  coming  stoi-m. 

'  My  presents,  or  rather  my  choice,  do  not 
seem  to  give  mnch  satisfaction  I ' 

'  Tliey  will  ho  very  nseful  I  am  sure,  Susan,' 
said  ilrs.  Lucas,  hoping  to  avert  a  portion  of  her 


sister's  anger  from  the  children.  '  But  perhaps 
they  are  hardly  what  such  httle  folks  would  ex- 
pect. All  the  same,  I  am  sure  they  will 
appreciate  your  Idndness  and  that  of  their  uncle.' 

'  You  spoil  your  children,  Lucy.    Their  heads 
are  fidl  of  vanity  and  nonsense.' 

Mrs.  Knox  did  not  wait  for  an  answer,  but 
walked  back  to  the  dining-room,  where  she  re- 
mained for  some  time  in  offended  silence ;  she 
cast  a  chill  over  the  whole  party,  and  every  one 
was  glad  when  bed-time  came. 
\^To  le  continued.) 


THE  ARAB  AND  THE  LORD'S 
PRAYER. 

TWO  travellers  passing  through  Barbary 
arrived  one  evening  near  an  Arab  camp, 
and  were  about  to  pitch  their  tent  for  the  night. 

A  crowd  of  the  Bedouin  wanderers  surrounded 
them,  cursing  them  as  '  rebels  against  God,'  and 
unbelievers,  infidela. 

One  of  the  travellers,  who  spoke  Arabic, 
turned  to  one  whose  dress  showed  him  to  be  a 
priest,  and  said,  '  Who  taught  you  that  we  are 
disbelievers  ?  Hear  my  daily  prayer,  and  judge 
for  yourselves.' 

He  then  slowly  repeated,  with  reverence,  the 
Lord's  prayer.  All  stood  amazed  and  silent, 
till  the  priest  exclaimed,  '  I  will  never  curse 
again  those  who  hold  such  belief!  Nay  more, 
that  prayer  shall  be  my  prayer  till  my  hour  be 
come.  I  pray  thee,  0  Nazarene,  repeat  the 
jsrayer,  that  it  may  be  remembered  and  written 
among  us  in  letters  of  gold.' 


EVERYBODY'S    CORNER, 

nUSSIAN  MAKKETS. 

IK  Bussia,  where  the  cold  is  very  intense, 
the  markets  are  very  curious  things.  The 
meat  is  frozen ;  the  carcases  of  dead  animals,  as 
sheep  and  pigs,  stand  upright  outside  the  stalls ; 
everything,  even  game  and  poultry,  requires  to 
be  thawed  before  it  can  be  cooked ;  and  the 
market-people's  dress  is  as  picturesque  as  it  is 
warm  and  comfortable.  It  would  not  do,  in 
that  cold  climate,  to  venture  out  without  plenty 
of  fur,  and  even  the  poorer  people  are  obliged  to 
have  protection  of  'jiis  kind. 

Then  the  rivers  are  frozen  over  all  the  winter 
long,  and  so  thick  is  the  ice  that  every  one  can 
skate,  anywhere  and  any  time.  Stalls  are  put 
upon  the  ice  and  busy  markets  held  there. 

In  the  Asiatic  part  of  Russia  the  people  live 
chiefly  by  hunting  and  fishing,  and.  the  fur  of 
the  Russian  animals  is  very  beautiful — the 
ermine,  fox,  sable,  sea  otter,  and  others. 

At  the  end  of  winter,  when  the  snow  melte, 
the  huntsman  pursues  a  kind  of  deer,  called  the 
Elk,  wearing  long  snow-shoes,  in  which  he  can 
glide  over  the  snow  very  quickly,  while  the  poor 
elk  sinks  into  the  snow  deeper  and  deeper  every 
step,  and  is  at  last  overtaken  and  killed. 


224 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


A  Russian  Gamedealer. 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


225 


"Cauprht!" 


2i'G 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young 


'CAUGHT,  MY  PillEND!' 

FARMER  BULOW  could  Lear  footsteps 
crackling  amongst  tlic  twigs  and  brauche.'- 
on  the  oilier  side  of  the  orchard  fence.  He  could 
not  see  who  it  was,  but  a  thief  was  there,  cer- 
tainly :  and  he  leaned  down  nnder  the  high 
palings,  trying  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  rohber. 

Yes !  there  he  was,  sure  enough — a  boy  with 
liis  smock  half  full  of  beautiful  rosy  ajiplef :  but 
his  face — ah  I  lie  could  not  see  that :  the  boy's 
back  was  towards  him,  and  coming  nearer  ami 
nearer  to  the  fence.  Good  gracious  I  he  leans 
liis  back  up  against  it,  whistling  away  as  if  the 
orchard  belonged  to  him. 

'  Now,  my  young  friend,  the  hour  of  puuisli- 
iiient  has  come  I'  thought  the  enraged  farmer. 
And  putting  his  great  brawny  fists  through  a 
rent  in  the  fence,  he  cauglit  the  culprit  by  Ijoth 
ears,  and  held  him  so. 

'  Now  I've  just  caught  you,  my  young  sir  ! 
Now  I'll  trouble  you  for  an  explanation  :  what  do 
you  mean  by  this  ?'  The  ears  were  twisted  suffi- 
ciently tight  to  make  the  boy  Avincc. 

'Do  you  hear '.•'' cried  the  farmer:  vwh.-if  dn 
■j'ou  mean  bj-  stealing  apples  ? ' 

'  I  wasn't  stealing,'  cried  the  other:  ■  \  wasn't 
stealing.  I\Iotlier  sent  mo  to  get  scuiic  fnr  the 
dumphngs.' 

Something  in  the  voice  strack  the  ear  i>f 
Farmer  Billow,  and  he  let  go  his  hold,  and  turn- 
ing round,  the  lad  pee])ed  tlirough  the  hole  in 
the  fence  to  see  his  father  covered  with  some- 
thing very  like  confusion.  '  Johnny,  bov  I  AMiv, 
I  didn't  know-  you  I  V\c  mustn't  tell  mother  I 
caught  the  wrong  thief;   she  will  laugh.' 

ilother,  however,  found  it  out.  and  teased 
them  about  it,  which  caused  merriment  enough. 

Farmer  Billow  says  it  was  not  to  be  su])poscd 
that  he  could  recognise  Johnny's  w'histle,  while 
Johnny  says  that  it  was  lucky  his  eare  were  on 
tight,  or  he  would  have  lost  them  both  that 
morning,  he's  sure ;  and  it's  quite  a  saying  Iiu^^" 
down  at  the  fann,  when  there's  fun  going  on. 
Caught,  my  young  friend '?  Oh,  no  I  it's  only 
apples  for  the  dumplings.' 


morning  and  evening,  and  would  not  go  to  sleep  ■• 
quietly  without  it. 

Her  favourite  fond  was  boiled  rice  and  bananas.;:, 
but  scarcely  anything  came  amiss  to  her.     A  raw 
n'S,^  was  a  dainty  inorsel :  when  one  was  given  to  ■ 
her,  she  broke  one  end  by  gently  knocking  it  on 
the  floor :  then  picking  off  the  broken  bits  of  shell 
and  putting  in  one  long,  slender  finger,  she  would 
throw  back  her  head,  and,  holding  the  egg  erect, . 
soon  suck  out  its  contents. 

When  anything  was  given  her  too  hard  fnr 
her  teeth  she  always  looked  about  for  a  stone. . 
and,  lifting  it  with  one  hand,  would  attempt  to  • 
crack  it :  if  unsuccessful,  she  would  .'find  a  larger 
stone,  which  she  would  hold  in  both  hands, 
and  rising  erect,  would  let  it  fall,  leaping  back- 
■wards  at  the  same  time  to  avoid  any  injury  to 
her  toes. 

Then,  if  any  small  object  happened  to  be  a 
llttli'  tieyond  her  reach,  if  she  could  lay  her  hand 
upon  a  twi.n'  or  switch,  she  would  stretch  herself" 
out  as  far  as  her  cord  would  allow,  and 
continue  working  at  the  object  till  she  got  it 
within  her  reach. 

Jenny  was  accustomed  to  ride  on  the  back  of ' 
a  large  mastiff  dog,  and  in  this  way  om-e  accom- 
plisheil  a  journey  of  many  miles.     The  two  were 
greatly  attached  to  each  other,  and  often  jilayed 
together  in  a  droll  way. 

Before  startmg.  the  dog  used  to  go  every 
mornin.y  tn  the  place  where  Jenny  "-i-  tied,  .ind. 
wait  till  she  was  put  ujionhis  back  anil  her  cord 
made  fast  to  his  collar.  Having  started,  she  was. 
not  at  all  particular  whether  her  face  was  toward.-- 
the  head  or  tail  of  her  steed,  except  w-hen  going 
<li)Wn-hiIl;  at  such  times  she  always  turned  face 
forwards,  and,  to  prevent  herself  slipping  over  the- 
dog's  head,  used  her  long  tail  as  a  crupper,  by 
coiling  it  round  the  thick  end  cf  the  dog's  tail,- 
and  so  held  on. 


A   PET    MOTTKEY. 

JENNY  was  a  pet  monkey,  a  native  of  Brazil. 
By  the  time  she  arrived  at  Rio  Janiero  she 
Lad  become  so  fond  of  tea  that  she  drank  it  every 


'GODLY    QUIETNESS.' 

THE  world,  age  after  age. 
Has  lifted  up  its  rod, 
And  breathed  out  threatenings  and  rage;- 
Agamst  the  Church  of  God. 

Thus,  by  a  w-orldling's  hand, 

The  saintly  Abel  died ; 
Foremost  of  all  the  goodly  li.onJ 

Who  shine  at  Jesu's  sido. 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


227, 


So,  on  Nile's  scoroliing  sands, 
The  Jewish  Cliurch  did  groan 

■"Neath  iron  rods,  and  cruel  hands, 
And  heathen  hearts  of  stone. 

And  we  have  need  to  cry, 

'  The  .wrath  of  man  repress  ; 
Thy  Church  would  serve  Thee  joyfully, 

In  godly  quietness  1' 

' '  Our  lovely  Sabbath  daj-s. 

Our  liberty  to  pray, 
'Our  pleasant  homes  of  Christian  praise. 

Lord,  take  not  these  a^A-ay.' 

But  should  the  world  ordain, 

'  Forsake  the  Christ,  or  die,' 
jMay  we  for  Him  choose  loss  and  ]iain. 

And  suffer  valiantly.  /<   q  p 


MIXEB     PICKLES. 

{Coutinncd  from paijc  220.) 

ITHOUT  stopping  to  thinly 
any  more,  off  Jjryda  ran  tu 
the  village,  as  fast  as  her  iV'ct 
could  carry  her. 

She  did  not  go  by  the 
rshubbery  walk,  but  down  the  lane  that  led  from 
■■the  bottom  of  the  garden  past  Farmer  "\^eitch's 
.  house. 

This  farm  was  about  half  way  between  the 
garden  and  the  village,  and  liryda,  out  of 
'breath,  walked  slowl}-  as  she  passed  it.  To  her 
great  terror  she  heard  behind  the  hedge  a  low, 
deep  gi-owl.  That  was  Farmer  "N^eitch's  bull- 
■  dog,  and  he  was  known  to  be  savage. 

Poor  Bryda  was  not  as  brave  as  she  used  to 
be,  since  her  adventure  with  the  bull,  and  this 
low  growl  made  her  start  violently.  Well,  if  the 
gate  was  only  shut,  the  bull-dog  might  growl  on 
till  to-niorrow  behind  it,  and  she  would  lie 
quite  safe. 

But  no,  the  gate  was  open  just  a  little  way, 
quite  enough  to  let  a  bull-dog  through — even  a 
liretty  big  one,  as  this  was  ;  and  in  another 
moment  the  annual  was  at  Bryila's  heels,  sniffing 
-at  her,  and  still  growIi)ig  in  a  horrid,  savage 
M-ay,  that  was  worse  than  a  torrent  of  barks, 
jind  showing  those  wliito  teeth  of  his  that  could 
sive  such  dreadful  bites. 


Poor  Bryda's  courage  quite  gave  way.  To 
run  was  no  use,  the  dog  could  run  faster. 
Screaming  would  no  doubt  make  him  bite  her 
at  once,  instead  of  taking  his  time  about  it.  It 
was  as  bad  as  the  adventure  with  Paddy,  and 
AN'hat  made  it  worse  was,  that  Bryda  was  strictly 
-forbidden  to  go  into  this  lane  at  all,  because 
there  had  been  some  infectious  illness  at  Farmer 
^'eitch■s.  A  \ivA\-dog  seemed  as  bad  as  a  bull. 
Shouhl  she  try  the  jiower  of  the  human  eye '? 
.  She  had  heard  various  stories  of  people  who  had 
subdued  savage  dogs  by  simply  gazhig  at  them 
fixedly  till  the  brute  nature  quailed  before  the 
human  intellect. 

But  that  must  require  wonderful  courage ; 
and  probably  it  would  not  answer  at  all,  if  the 
gazer  were  to  look  at  all  afraid.  And  jioor  little 
Bryda  was  simply  terrified. 

At  this  moment  she  caught  sight  of  a  tree 
close  to  her  that  had  low  branches,  most  cou- 
vcniinit  for  climbing.  Dogs  cannot  climb  trees, 
and  the  cats  know  it ;  just  as  cats  canmjt  fly, 
and  the  birds  know  it,  and  act  accordingl)'. 

In  another  moment,  with  a  breathless  spring 
and  scramble,  Bryda  was  up  in  the  tree.  The 
di  ig  sprang  at  her,  and  tore  a  large  piece  of  her 
frock,  fiut  she  was  unhurt ;  and  you  may  snp- 
jiose  sjie  i'elt  glad  that  there  was  only  a  bit  of 
stuff  in  the  sharp  white  teeth,  instead  of  a  bit  of 
herself '. 

She  lost  a  shoe,  too,  in  the  scramble  ;  and  the 
dog  scratched  it,  and  snuffed  at  it.  Breathless, 
torn  as  to  garments,  and  with  one  shoeless  foot, 
she  climbeil  up  a  little  higher,  so  as  to  be  quite 
safe,  and  looked  down  at  the  dog. 

t)f  course  he  would  go  away  now  there  was 
no  chance  of  biting  her.  And  then  she  -would 
jump  down  and  run  for  her  life  to  the  village. 
From  her  secure  height  she  grew  bold,  and 
spoke  valiantly  to  the  dog. 

■Poor  fellow!  good  dog,  then  I  Go  home, 
sir  I     (jo  to  kennel  1     Home,  sir  1 ' 

The  dog  only  growled  the  more,  but  did  not 
go  away  at  all.  He  did  not  seem  to  care  to  go 
lionie.  Well,  then,  perhaps  he  would  like  to 
hiuit  <;ats  after  the  cruel  fashion  of  dogs  ? 

■  Hunt !'  went  on  Bryda.  '  (jiood  boy  !  Cats  '. 
Puss,  jmss  !  Cats  I  ^Vftcr  them  I  catch  them, 
good  dog  1 ' 

But  this  bull-dog  was  a  strange  animal.  He 
did   not    seem    to    care    for    cats  ;    but    curled 


228 


SUXDAY  ReADIXG  FOR  THE  YoUNG. 


himself 


Bsppo. 
were 
all  the 
people 
of  the 
farm  ? 

She 
loudly 

'  Mrs'-Veitch  ! 
mor 

Directly  she  he- 
gan  to  call  the  dog 
jumped  up,  barking 
and  sprang  at  her. 

True,  he  could  not  quite  reach  her,  but  he  came 
dreadfully  close,  and  his  barks  were  enough  to 
drown  her  calling. 

By -and -by,  however,  the  farm-house  door 
opened,  and  an  old  woman  looked  out.  She  was 
the  only  pei'son  near :  for  it  was  harvest,  and  all 
the  men  were  busy,  and  all  the  women  binding 
sheaves  with  them.  Her  dim  eyes  caught  sight 
of  a  figure  in  the  tree,  and  when  Bryda  called 
again  to  her,  she  laughed  and  shook  her  fist. 


ay  ! '  she  said.  '  Young  thieves  from 
the  village  arter  Fanner's  apjiles  I  AYell,  you 
bide  there  a  bit,  it'll  gie  ye  something  to  re- 
member.' 

So  saying,  and  laughing  to  herself  over  this 
capital  ijunishment  for  apple-stealers,  she  went 
back  into  the  house  and  shut  the  door. 

So  there  was  Bryda,  like  Mahomet's  coffin, 
hung  between  the  sky  and  earth ;  and  there  she 
sat.  feeling  very  angry  with  the  old  woman,  very 
much  vexed  about  Beppo,  and  very  much 
afraid  of  the  dog. 

That  amiable  animal  made  himself  a  sentinel, 
and  declined  to  move.  No  scolding,  no  coaxuig 
on  Bryda's  part,  had  any  effect.  There  he  was, 
and  there  he  meant  to 
be ;  and  Bryda  sat  on  a 
branch,  swinging  her  long 
black  legs,  and  wishing- 
she  had  wings,  so  that  she- 
might  fly  away  from  all 
her  present  troubles. 

She    might    have    been 
rather  amused,  but  for  two 
things    that     much     dis- 
tressed    her.       C)ne     was 
Beppo's     peril,     and     the 
other  the  Iniowledge  that 
the    grannies    would     be 
vexed  at  her  being  in  the  lane  at  all,  when 
she  had  for  such  a  good  reason  been  for- 
bidden to  go  there. 

At  last  she  felt    so    downhearted    that 

very  much  incliued  to  cry,  but 

would  not  do,  because  the  hor- 

dog  would  see  her,  and  probably 

he   would    feel    pleased.      So 

there  she  remained. 

(To  he  contimied.) 


T 


THE    BEST    ATTITUDE. 

HE    Emperor   Constantine   the   Great  was 
once  looking  at  the  statues  of  some  noted 
who  were   represented   in   a   standing 


persons, 
liosition. 

'I  shall  have  mine  taken  kneehng,'  said  he; 
'  for  that  is  how  I  have  risen  to  eminence.' 

So  must  it  be  with  the  Christian :  if  he 
would  rise,  he  must  be  often  kneeling  in  prayei- 
to  God. 


SUiXDAY  ReADIXG  FOR   THE  YoUNG. 


229 


HAaAMUFTIN     TOM. 

(Couthuied  from  page  233.) 
ci[APTEn    IV. — tom's   departuke. 


MRS.  KNOX  seldom  lost  an  opporhuiity 
of  jjiittiiig  a,  disagreeable  construction  on 
remarks  and  actions  in  themselves  innocent,  if 
tlicy  happened  to  cross  her  in  any  way.  It  was 
almost  as  if  an  evil  impulse  possessed  her  at 
times,  and  would  not 
allow  her  to  listen  to 
her  better  nature.  She 
often  made  mischief, 
which  perhaps  she  re- 
gretted afterwards;  but 
she  did  not  let  the  re- 
gret appear,  neither  did 
she  take  warning  for  the 
futiu'e. 

Tom  was  well  aware 
of  this  unamiable  side 
of  her  character,  and 
the  picture  she  \vould 
draw  of  his  conduct 
rose  so  vividly  before 
]iis  mind's  eye  that  he 
was  in  despair. 

No  sooner  did  he  see 
that  she  had  enteretl 
the  house,  than,  putting 
on  his  jacket,  he  ran  as 
quietly  as  possible  to 
the  garden  door,  opened 
it  and  went  out,  not 
caring  what  became  of 
him.  He  did  not  sto[) 
to  consider  that  he  hail 
no  right  to  the  clothes 
he  was  wearing  ;  he 
knew  Ms  friends  would 
consider  him  ungrate- 
ful, but  as  the  clothes 
had  been  given  to  him, 
it  never  for  a  moment 
entered  his  head  that 
they  were  part  and  parcel  of  his  service  at  The 
Hollies. 

He  walked  on  tovi-ards  town  as  fast  as  he 
cotrld,  but  when  he  found  himself  at  a  safe  dis- 
tance he  loitered  a  little — looking  into  the  shops 
and  vaguely  wondering  where  he  should  pass 


the  night.     He  had 
pence  -in  his  pockets 


slulling  and  one  or  twO' 
the  latter  he  spent  on 
some  bread  and  a  glass  of  milk,  and  again 
walked  on.  Evening  closed  in,  and  the  gas  in 
the  shops  and  streets  was  lighted. 

There  was  a  chemist's 
shop,  gay  with  blue, 
red,  and  green  globes 
in  the  ^^•indows,  through 
which  the  light  from 
inside  shone,  and  threw 
coloured  rays  on  to  the 
pavement. 

They  looked  pretty 
and  friendly,  these 
bright  colours,  so  much 
so  that  Tom  stopped 
to  gaze  on  them  quite 
fascinated.  In  doing 
this  he  saw  a  notice 
in  the  window  that  an 
errand  -  boy  was  re- 
quired at  this  very  shop. 
Here  was  a  chance 
for  him  I  What  could 
be  easier  than  to  ruu 
errands  I  Full  of  hope 
and  without  a  moment's 
consideration  he  entered, 
and  offered  himself  for 
the  vacant  place. 

'  Humph  I  Decent- 
looking  lad  enough,' 
said  the  master.  '  What 
character,  mj^  boy  ?  ' 

Alas  I  Tom  had  not 
thought  of  this  ques- 
tion, which  would,  as  a 
matter  of  course,  be 
asked  at  once.  He  had 
acted  without  much 
thought.  Besides  the  impossibility  of  applying 
to  Mr.  Lucas,  the  only  person  who  could  give 
him  a  character,  his  sins,  as  put  before  him  by 
Mrs.  Knox,  rose  up  ;  try  as  he  would  to  set  them 
aside,  they  looked  very  black  to  the  tired,  lonely 
lad.     He  turned  away  and  sadly  left  the  shop. 


.230 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Yolng. 


■  Sisajipointed  in  tlie  friendly  liglits  wliich  had 
seemed  to  ensure  him  a  welcome. 

He  did  not  Imow  where  to  seek  for  a  night's 
iloclging,  and  \Yandering  about  imtil  quite  ex- 
Juiusted  he  at  lengtli  sank  down  in  the  corner  of  a 
.  doi  irway,  over  which  there  was  a  portico  to  shelter 
.:him  a  little  from  the  cold  air.  He  thought  of  the 
-three  pretty  hright-eyed  cliildren  he  had  left,  and 
rlieir  kind  parents ;  he  thought  of  his  comfortable 


water-cresses  to  sell  again.  He  changed  his 
shilling,  and  invested  in  a  large  bunch  to  divide 
into  smaller  ones,  and  then  set  out  on  his  first 
attempt  at  trading.  He  was  really  successful, 
and  when  his  cresses  were  sold,  found  that  he 
had  cleared  sixpence. 

The  great  thing  now  was  to  find  a  lionie. 
Tom  did  not  fancy  Eiver  Alley.  The  remem- 
brance of  the  dirt  was  too  great  a  contrast  with 


■suppers  and  warm  bed  at  The  Hollies,  and  his 
poor  weary  heart  felt  heavy  indeed.  However, 
he  fell  asleep  at  last,  and  no  pohceman  happening 
to  notice  him  he  slumbered  peacefully  on  imtil 
the  early  morning,  when  he  awoke  feehng  stiff 
.and  sore. 

Tom  roused  himself,  and,  getting  up,  wandered 
into  Covent  Garden  Market,  wliere  he  watched 
the  waggons  from  the  country  being  unloaded. 
.All  at  once  it  struck  him  that  he  might  buy 


the  comfort  he  had  lately  enjoyed ;  neither  did  he 
feel  at  all  inclined  to  show  his  face  there  after 
leaving  full  of  joj'ful  pride,  hoping  soon  to  rise 
far  above  the  level  of  his  fonner  associates.  He 
did  not  want  to  return  and  play  at  chuck-farthing 
with  the  dirty,  ragged,  and  more  or  less  dishonest 
boys  who  had  been  his  former  companions  ;  he 
thought,  too,  \\itli  a  shudder  of  the  \-iTetched  food 
he  had  had  there. 

Poor  Tom  1     He  had  also  leai-ned  to  love  soap 


SuxDAY  Reading  for  the  Young. 


231 


and  water,  luxuries  lie  would  not  be  likely  to  find 
in  his  old  home.  He  ti-iidged  ou,  trusting  to 
chance,  until  he  remembered  that  kind,  gentle 
Mrs.  Lucas,  had  taught  him  to  pray.  Why 
had  he  not  remembered  it  before  ?  And  he  also 
recollected  with  contrition  that  he  hnd  said  no 
prayer  either  last  night  or  this  morning  1  He 
could  not  kneel  down  in  the  street,  and  there  was 
no  church  near  by,  so  he  silently  jiraycd  for  help 
as  he  walked  along. 

Presently  he  saw  a  tidy-looking  old  woman 
sweeping  her  door-step.  She  did  not  look  cross 
nor  prim,  and,  fortified  by  his  prayer,  he  stepped 
straight  up  to  her  and  asked  for  a  night's  lodging. 
It  was  rather  a  startling  request  from  a  stranger, 
so  no  wonder  that  the  old  woman  gazed  at  him  in 
silence  for  a  second  or  two.  She  was  taken  with 
Tom's  open,  straight-forward  face,  but  before 
committing  herself  she  asked  him  ^\■hat  he  did 
to  gain  a  living. 

'  I  sell  cresses,  ma'am  1'  replied  he  promptly,  as 
if  selling  cresses  had  been  the  occnjiiation  of  his 
life,  instead  of  the  work  of  one  day,  at  the  same 
time  showing  his  six  pennies. 

'And  that's  what  you've  gained  to-day  !  Well, 
it  ain't  much  to  pay  for  board  arid  lodging  with  I ' 

'  No,'  replied  Tom,  looking  anxiously  at  his 
possible  hostess,  who  during  the  short  dialogue 
had  really  been  making  up  her  mind  to  admit 
him  into  her  house.  Rapii.lly  thinking  over  the 
odd  jobs  which  a  strong  boj'  could  do  for  her, 
she  finally  told  him  to  follow  her  in. 

There  was  little  enough  to  steal  at  3[r.s. 
Middleborough's  had  Tom  been  a  thief.  She 
herself  occupied  the  kitchen,  letting  out  the  other 
rooms  to  various  lodgers. 

Mrs.  Middleborough  was  a  withcred-up  little 
person,  who  was  never  seen  without  a  large 
black  bonnet,  which  she  tipped  over  her  eyes; 
originally,  to  sliield  them  from  tlio  sun :  but  this 
mode  of  wearing  her  head-gear  had  become  a 
habit,  and,  fog  or  sunshine,  it  was  all  the  same 
now,  and  the  big  bonnet  w.-.s  worn  after  her  own 
particular  fashion  on  all  occasions. 

The  only  available  place  where  Tom  could 
sleep  was  the  little  scullery  :  there  Mrs.  Middle- 
borough  said  he  might  lie  on  a  rug  spread  on  the 
floor,  a  lodging  as  much  superior  to  the  doorstep 
of  tire  night  before  as  it  was  inferior  to  his 
comfortable  bed  at  Tlie  Hollies. 
(To  he  continued.) 


LION    HABITS. 

AN  Indian  once  brought  uj)  a  young  lion, 
and  finding  him  weak  and  harmless  never 
attempted  to  control  him.  Every  day  the  animal 
gained  in  strength  and  became  more  and  more 
unmanageable,  till  at  last,  excited  to  a  frenzy  by 
rage,  he  fell  upon  the  Indian  and  tore  him  in 
pieces. 

Evil  habits  and  passions   are  very  much  like- 
that  lion. 


THE    LOST    OTfE'S   RETURN". 

HEEE  can  that  cat  havo 
gone  to  ? '  said  Susan,  the- 
dairy-maid  at  Horley  Farm,, 
one  moming,  as  she  came 
into  the  farni  kitchen  after 
feeding  the  poultry.  '  She  always  iised  to  come 
for  bi'ealcfast,  and  noAv  I  haven't  seen  her  foi- 
days.' 

'  Shot  for  a  poacher,  I  'spccts,'  said  the  far- 
mer's young  hopeful,  Johnnie. 

'  An5rway,  she's  gone,  and  we  begin  to  find  it 
out,  for  the  mice  are  getting  up  again  that 
thick  I  can't  keep  anything  in  the  larder  from 
them.' 

The  cat  was  a  good  cat,  vdih  an  honest  repu- 
tation for  good  habits  and  catching  mice  ;  there- 
fore it  was  strange  she  should  have  vanished  so 
suddenly  ;  and  many  were  the  inquiries  for  Mrs_ 
Blackie. 

One  morning,  some  three  ^\■(•l■ks  later,  when 
every  one  had  given  her  up  for  tlead,  Susan  was 
coming  in  from  the  yard  after  milking,  when,  as 
she  opened  the  outhouse  door,  who  should  she  see 
then  but  Mrs.  Blackie  herself,  sitting  on  the  tile 
floor  in  a  i">urring  state  of  happiness,  and,  rolling 
over  and  over  each  other,  a  yard  away,  a  couple 
of  the  finest  young  kittens  to  be  imagined. 
■  It  quite  startled  Susan,  but  the  old  cat  seemed, 
as  pleased  as  possible,  as  if  to  say,  '  See  what  I 
have  done  for  you  I  We  shall  keep  the  mice 
down  bravely  now.  Here's  !i  fine  addition  to- 
the  family,  and  Horley  Farm  may  well  be  proud 
of  its  cats.' 

Susan  was  delighted ;  a  dish  of  new  nulk  was 
forthcoming,  and  we  can  imagine  how  the  mico 
scampered  away  to  find  other  and  more  secure 
homes,  when  they  found  themselves  hunted  by 
three  cats  instead  of  one. 


•2?r2 


Sunday  Readia'g FOR  the  Young. 


The  Lost  One  Found. 


Sunday Readixg  for  the  Young. 


??■?. 


A  Pair  of  Love-Birds. 

II  H 


234 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


OUB  DUMB   TEACHERS. 


AFFECTION  IN  BIRDS. 


TRDS  htive  a  tliou^^aiid  little 
ways  of  showing  afi'ection 
for  one  another  and  for 
those  who  tend  them. 

The  woods  in  summer 
resound  with  varied  notes 
of  joy,  and  all  hesijeak 
those  feelings  we  are 
used  to  think  of  as  only 
human, — tenderness,  fear, 
hope,  or  expectation ;  from 
the  sweet  melody  of  the 
lark  or  nightingale  to  the 
tender  cooing  of  the  dove,  love  breathes 
through  all. 

Perhaps  the  little  love-parrots,  or  love-birds, 
are  the  prettiest  examples ;  even  in  captivity, 
should  one  die,  its  mate  pines  av>ay,  and  seldom 
survives  its  partner  long. 

A  pair  of  these  little  things  were  confined  in 
the  same  cage.  The  female  falling  sick,  her 
mate  showed  the  fondest  attachment,  carrying 
food  to  her  from  the  bottom  of  the  cage,  and 
feeding  her  on  the  perch.  When  slie  died,  he 
went  round  and  round  her  in  greatest  distress, 
trying  to  open  her  bill  to  give  her  food.  Then 
he  grew  sad,  pined  away,  and  died  in  a  few 
months. 


THE    BOY    WHO   REMEMBERED 
WHAT    HE    WAS   TAUGHT. 

I  READ  once  about  a  boy  (and  I  wish  I 
could  remember  his  name,  for  it  is  a  true 
story)  who  had  been  to  school  on  ene  of  the 
training-ships,  and  when  he  was  about  sixteen 
he  was  engaged  as  a  sailor  on  board  a  small 
ship  which  carried  oranges  from  Spain  to 
England.  WMle  tlie  ship  was  at  sea  the  cap- 
tain fell  ill  of  a  fever,  and  the  mate  (that  is,  the 
man  next  in  command  to  the  captain)  caught 
the  fever  too,  and  there  was  no  one  on  board  but 
a  few  ordinary  sailors  and  this  boy. 

The  sailors  could  run  up  the  rigging,  and 
could  draw  in  the  sails,  and  haul  up  the  anchor, 
as  well  as  you  could  wish  men  to  do  it ;  but  as 
to  knowiiig  how  to  steer  a  ship  ia  the  right 
course,  I  dare  say  3'ou  know  as  much  about  it 


as  these  men  did.  But  this  boy  had  been  well' 
taught  on  his  training-ship,  and  he  had  not  only 
been  taught,  but  he  had  learned  as  well.  This 
he  certainly  proved,  for  he  steered  the  ship- 
across  the  Bay  of  Biscay  to  the  mouth  of  the 
English  Channel,  and  safe  into  Portsmouth 
harbour.  How  surprised  the  people  were  when 
they   found   that   the    captain    was    a    boy    of 


sixteen 


'Great  Britain  for  Little  Britons.' 


SUNDAYS   IN"   QUARATfTINE. 
I. 

TTUGH.  Bother  this  scarlet-fever  1  I  wish  it 
were  a  hundred  miles  away ;  I'm  so  tired 
of  staying  indoors.  It's  bad  enough  on  a  week- 
day, when  I  can  have  the  nursery-floor  for  you 
girls  to  bowl  to  me  on,  but  on  Sundays  it's- 
as  bad  as  Uncle  Jack's  experience  of  quarantine. 
Lina,  do  suggest  something  to  make  this  endless 
afternoon  pass  more  quickly. 

Lina.  It  is  long,  Hugh ;  I  feel  it  too,  for  \ve- 
know  aU  the  Sunday  books  by  heart,  and  we 
can't  expect  mother  to  let  us  have  any  out  of 
the  drawing-room,  as  all  we  have  touched  are  to- 
be  burnt  by-and-by  for  fear  of  infection. 

Hugh.  Infection  I  Why,  somebody  must  have- 
infected  us,  to  begin  with,  so  what  does  that 
matter  ?  For  my  part,  I  should  lilce  to  nm  round 
the  town  and  give  the  fever  to  all  the  sneaks  and 
bullies  I  know  of. 

Mary.  I  don't  think  that  would  be  very  kind,, 
Hugh ;  remember  what  trouble  mother  has  had 
nursing  all  of  us,  and  how  horrid  it  was  having 
such  dry  throats.  I  am  quite  glad  we  have  had 
measles  and  whooping-cough,  too,  for  now  I 
hope  we  have  done  with  powders  for  a  bit.  Ot,. 
dear,  I  know  Mr.  Burrows  must  be  getting 
nearly  through  those  allegories.  '\Miat  a  jolly 
sermon  that  was  he  preached  the  last  Sunday 
we  were  at  church  I  that  one  about  the  boats 
crossing  the  sea,  I  mean. 

Hugh.  That's  the  sort  of  sermon  I  like^ 
When  I  grow  up,  I  shall  always  preach  like 
that  to  the  youngsters.  Don't  you  remembei- 
before  those  services  began  we  used  to  be  allowed 
to  take  a  book  to  read  during  sermon  time  'i' 
But  Mr.  Burrows'  sermons  are  jollier  than  books, 
I  diink. 

Lina.  Hugh,    I    have    an    idea;    let's    have- 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


235 


sermons  of  our  own.  There  is  no  cliance  of  our 
going  to  clmrcli  for  months ;  people  run  miles 
from  scarlet-fever,  and  would  dread  us  coming 
so  near  to  them,  as  we  must,  in  church. 

Hii^h.  Our  own  sermons  I  Wliat  do  you 
mean,  Lina '?  If  you  think  any  of  us  are  going 
to  string  a  lot  of  texts  together  for  you  to  listen 
to,  you're  finely  mistaken. 

Lina.  I  mean  nothing  that  you  won't  like, 
Hugh.  What  I  was  going  to  suggest,  only  I 
•could  not  get  the  words  out — you  snapped  me  up 
so — was  that  we  should  tell  Story  Sermons  every 
Sunday  afternoon,  like  those  Mr.  Burrows  gives 
us. 

Mary.  Oh,  Lina,  that  would  be  nice  I  Is 
■everybody  to  tell  one  each  time?  I  know  a 
story  to  begin  with,  but  I  can't  think  of  a 
second  good  one  all  in  a  minute. 

Lina.  Why,  Mary,  you  have  galloped  ahead 
■of  all  of  Tis  I  You  will  certainly  have  to  lead 
tlie  way,  for  I  have  few  ideas  yet,  except  that 
the  stories  ought  to  be  of  good  people,  or  brave 
actions. 

Hugh.  Mine  will  always  be  of  soldiers.  I 
<lon't  expect  I  shall  care  for  the  heroines  you 
girls  will  think  so  grand. 

Lina.  Don't  be  too  sure,  Hugh,  that  we  girls 
shall  have  nothing  but  women  to  talk  about.  I 
have  a  glimmering  now  of  a  very  brave  man  I 
shall  take  for  my  first  hero.  I  must  refresh  my 
memory  a  little  about  him  first,  though. 

Mary.  Is  he  in  a  book,  Lina  ?  Oh,  I  didn't 
know  we  might  get  our  sermons  from  books. 

Lina.  Get  them  from  wliere  you  like,  so  long 
as  they  are  good,  true  stories;  at  least,  so  I 
think.  What  do  you  all  say  ?  for  we  had  better 
be  of  one  mind  upon  that  point. 

Hugh.  Agreed.  Now  let's  set  to  work  and 
think  of  some  one  to  start  -with.  Luia,  you  he- 
gin,  as  you're  so  much  the  eldest. 

Lina.  Very  well,  Hugh,  but  be  merciful  to 
me,  pray,  and  remember,  '  unaccustomed  as  I 
am  to  public  .speaking,'  &e. 

Hugh.  All  right,  Lina;  I  expect  we  shall  be 
treated  to  a  polished  essay  after  the  style  your 
pet  High-school  missis  apjiroves  of. 

Lina.  ilarj',  just  jjull  his  hair  for  me. 
These  boys  want  more  keeping  down  than  I 
feel  equal  to.  I  shall  set  to  work  to  prepare  for 
next  Sunday  at  once. 

(To  he  continued.) 


RAGAMTTFPIIT     TOM. 

(Continued  from  page  231.) 

CHAPTER  V. TOM  GETS  ON. 

'OM  was  very  busy  when  the 
morning  came.  He  heljied  his 
landlady  to  draw  the  water, 
carry  the  coals,  clean  the  boots 
and  knives,  and  did  various 
other  odd  jobs,  which,  she 
said,  deserved  a  breakfast;  so 
sIk;  shared  hers  \\n.t]i  him,  after 
\\hich  he  started  off,  post 
haste,  in  order  to  buy  his 
cresses  and  resell  them  for  breakfasts  later  thaa 
his  own. 

Mrs.  Middleborough  promised  him  a  home  in 
return  for  his  help  in  her  morning's  work,  for 
which  she  felt  herself  growing  old,  and  so  was 
glad  to  avail  herself  of  Tom's  willing  aid,  who 
soon  felt  quite  at  home  and  happy  in  his  new 
life.  The  chief  drawback  was  that  he  did  not 
see  his  way  to  continuing  his  education.  He 
had  begmi  to  read  and  write  pretty  fairly. 

He  gradually  saved  pence  and  halfpence  until 
be  was  able  to  buy  a  spelling  primer,  a  copy- 
book, some  ink,  and  a  pen  and  penholder.  It 
had  taken  him  about  three  weeks  to  save  money 
enough  to  buy  these  treasures,  which  he  proudly 
produced  one  evening,  and  set  to  work  as  soon 
as  possible  after  tea. 

Mrs.  Middleborough  had' been  out  all  day 
hard  at  work-,  and  had  fallen  asleep  by  the  fire- 
side. She  suddenly  awoke,  very  wide  awake 
indeed, — so  suddenly  did  she  start  up  that  her 
black  bonnet  fell  to  one  side  of  her  head,  and 
presented  a  most  curious  appearance ;  she  startled 
Tom,  who  jumped,  and  in  so  doing  upset  his 
ink-bottle,  the  contents  running  over  his  new 
copybook,  and,  worse  still,  over  the  clean-scoured 
table. 

'  Good  gracious  1 '  cried  out  Mrs.  Middle- 
borough ;  '  look  what  you  are  after  witli  your 
ink!  I  should  like  to  know  what  tlie  likes  of 
you  have  to  do  in  iidt  and  books  I  Best  mind 
your  cresses,  and  not  come  inking  honest  folks' 
tables,  as  have  taken  half-an-hour  to  scrub, 
cijming  home  tired  out  and  all.' 

Mrs.  Middleborough's  voice  died  away  in  a 
sort  of  wail.  She  did  not  explain  what  the  'tired 
and  air  meant,  but  Tom  guessed  pretty  correctly 


23G 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


wlien  he  thought  it  stood  for  cross.  He  was 
silent,  not  knowing  what  to  say  or  do,  and  gazed 
helplessly  from  his  hostess  to  the  table  and  hack 
again. 

'  Well  now,  what's  the  use  of  looking  ?  Bestir 
yourself  and  wijDe  up  the  mess  you  have  made.' 

Thanldul  to  be  told  what  to  do,  off  rushed 
Tom  in  wild  haste  to  get  a  cloth.  He  caught 
up  the  first  which  came  to  hand,  and  which  hap- 
pened to  be  the  one  Mrs.  Middleborough  used  for 


the  thing  remained  on  her  head  at  aU  was  a 
mystery  to  Tom,  who  would  have  been  inwardly 
delighted  had  it  fallen  off.  He  had  long  been 
curious  to  know  what  sort  of  covering  the  head 
had  under  the  bonnet ;  but  his  curiosity  was  not 
to  be  satisfied,  for  just  as  he  thought  the  moment 
had  arrived,  Mrs.  Middleborough  caught  sight  of 
herself  in  the  little  square  looking-glass  which 
hung  near  the  chimneypiece,  and  giving  her  head- 
gear a  push  she  set  it  to  rights  as  if  by  magic, 


drying  her  tea-things.  She  was  just  in  time  to 
snatch  it  from  him,  and  muttering  something 
about  doing  things  oneself,  she  fetched  the  piece 
of  old  carpet  with  which  she  cleaned  her  door- 
step and  the  stone  passages. 

Tired  with  her  day's  work,  and  vexed  at  the 
stain  on  her  hitherto  spotless  table  (it  must  be 
owned  that  Mrs.  Middleborough  was  very  angry), 
she  scrubbed  away  in  a  perfect  fury  of  zeal. 
Her  bonnet,  her  familiar  spirit  as  it  were,  seemed 
to  enter  into  and  partake  of  her  anger,  for  the 
few  bows  on  it  stood  up  and  out  defiantly ;  how 


and  it  was  again  firmly  established  on  the  top 
of  her  head. 

On  she  scrubbed,  saying.  '  The  stain'll  never 
come  out  I  never  I  You  bad  boy  !  I  can't  think 
what  you  want  with  learning.  Learn  to  be  good, 
say  I,  honest  and  hardworking.  You'll  do  mis- 
chief some  day  with  that  pen  of  yours.' 

By  degrees  the  bodily  exercise  calmed  Mrs. 
Middleborough's  mind,  and  she  began  to  be 
Sony  for  the  sharp  things  she  was  saying. 

'  I  didn't  ought  to  be  so  cross ;  but  there, 
I'm  tired  out,  Tom.'     Saying  which,  she  threw 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


237 


lierself  down  on  a  chair  and  turst  into  tears, 
rocking  herself  to  and  fro  at  the  same  time. 

Tom  felt  more  uncomfortable  than  ever,  and 
stood  silent  heside  the  unfortunate  table,  twisting 
a  piece  of  string  between  his  fingers. 

'  My  pudding-string,  I  declare '. '  called  out 
3Irs.  Middleborough,  suddenly.  '  Where  did 
yon  get  it  from  '?  The  only  bit  I  have  to  tie  up 
to-moiTow's  pudding  with  1 '  she  added,  thinking 
her  misfortmies  were  never  to  end. 


Tom  thought  he  had  better  go  away  before 
he  made  any  more  unfortunate  mistakes,  so, 
throwing  the  string  on  the  table,  he  rushed 
out  of  the  house,  his  landlady  calling  after  him 
to  return. 

'  Oh,    well,'  she   muttered    to    herself,    '  he'll 
come  back,  never  fear  I    He's  left  his  precious 
books   beliind  him.     I  wouldn't  have  him   not 
come  back  for  sometliing,  that  I  wouldn't.' 
(To  be  continued.) 


'SETTING   THE    THAMES    OH"   EIRE.' 


THIS  is  a  saying  which  we  often  hear,  but 
probably  few  people  know  its  origin. 
In  the  time  of  our  forefathers,  the  corn  was 
groimd  in  a  rough  instrument  called  a  '  temse  : ' 
this  was  merely  a  stone  hollowed  out  to  receive 
the  com,  and  with  a  piece  of  wood  passed 
through  it,  wliich  being  rapidly  turned,  ground 
the  corn  to  flour.  If  the  wooden  handle  were 
turned  with  sufficient  force,  the  friction  of  the 
wood  against  the  stone  would  cause  the  stick 
to  catch  fire ;    but  as  it  required  considerable 


energy  to  produce  this  effect,  the  person  who 
could  accomplish  it  was  thought  smart,  and  he 
who  could  '  set  the  temse  on  fire '  was  pretty  siire 
to  be  a  good  worker  in  other  ways. 

After  a  time  the  '  temse '  was  superseded  by 
better  machinery,  but  the  expression  still  re- 
mains in  our  language ;  only  as  the  '  temse ' 
is  now  an  unknown  instrument,  the  spelling 
has  become  corrupted  into  'Thames,'  though 
in  reality  it  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  river 
Thames.  0.  A.  0. 


238 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


THE    OLD    HOME. 


APEETTY  cliaffincli  biiilt  her  nest 
Upon  an  apple-tree, 
So  soft  and  warm  and  do'rniy, 
Which  held  her  fledglings  three. 

And  everj-  morning  fine  and  bright, 

8 lie  went  and  got  them  food  ; 
And  in  the  evening  her  soft  wings 

Covered  the  little  brood. 

She  sang  and  chirped  to  them,  and  thought 

How  happy  she  would  be, 
^^Tien  they  got  their  pretty  feathers 

And  could  leave  the  apple-tree. 


So  one  bright  morning  early, 
She  thought  that  they  might  try 

To  use  their  little  wings,  and  see 
If  they  could  really  fly. 

So  off  one  flew  and  landed  safe 

Upon  a  branch  to  rest. 
The  other  two  then  followed  fast. 

And  left  the  poor  old  nest 

But  when  the  nights  were  cold  or  damp 

They  often  snugly  lay 
In  the  old  nest  they  loved  so  well. 

Till  the  breaking  of  the  day. 

Joanna  McKean. 


IN   THE    UPPER   EOOM. 


I  T  was  a  summer's  day  nearly  nineteen 
hundred  years  ago,  in  the  fair  land  of 
Judea  ;  the  sun  was  shining  brightly 
upon  the  Mount  of  Olives,  and  the 
Ajxistles  of  our  Blessed  Lord  were 
gazing  up  into  heaven,  trying  to 
jiierce  through  the  great  white  cloud  in 
which  it  seemed  to  them  that  their  Slastor 
was  hidden  from  their  sight. 
Then  two  angels  came  and  told  them  that  it 
was  useless  for  them  to  stand  there  and  watch 
for  Him,  for  He  had  gone  back  to  His  Father's 
home ;  but  He  would  return  some  day,  in  the 
same  manner  as  they  had  seen  Him  go  into 
heaven,  to  judge  the  quick  and  the  dead. 

So,  on  the  first  Ascension  Day  the  Apostles 
went  back  to  Jerusalem  to  wait  for  the  Com- 
forter, whom  their  Lord  had  promised  to  send 
them. 

They  must  have  felt  veiy  sad  as  they 
walked  back  to  the  Holy  City.  "VYe  all  know 
how  hard  it  is  when  those  we  love  go  from  us, 
and  what  a  long  time  it  seems  to  us  until  they 
come  back  to  us ;  how  we  count  up  the  days 
that  must  elapse  until  we  shall  see  them  again  ; 
and,  somehow  or  other,  days  never  before  seemed 
so  long  to  us. 

The  disciples  Imew  now  that  Jesus  would 
never  come  to  them  again  on  earth.  They  knew 
tliat  they  would  go  to  Him  when  they  had  done 
the  work  He  had  told  them  to  do,  but  as  yet  they 
•were  puzzled  as  to  how  they  were  to  set  about 


that  work.  He  had  bidden  them  to  go  out  in 
all  the  ^^■orld  and  teach  and  preach  to  all  nations, 
baptizing  in  the  name  of  the  Father,  and  of  the 
Sou,  and  of  the  Holy  Ghost ;  and,  doubtless, 
they  wondered  how  they  could  do  this,  for  they 
were,  for  the  most  part,  poor  ignorant  fishermen, 
and  could  only  speak  their  own  language :  how, 
then,  could  they  tell  other  nations  of  the  love  of 
God  and  of  Jesus  ? 

This  nmst  have  been  their  first  thought 
in  their  sadness ;  they  must  have  been  so 
anxious  to  do  all  He  had  told  them  to  do.  But 
hope  came  into  their  hearts ;  they  had  learned  to 
believe  in  Him,  and  to  trust  in  Him,  and  He  had 
bidden  them  go  back  to  Jerusalem,  there  to  wait 
for  the  great  gift  of  the  Holy  Ghost,  who  was  to 
teach  them  all  things. 

Jesus  had  chosen  twelve  Apostles  to  be 
alwaj's  with  Him ;  and  it  was  to  them  He  gave 
power  to  baptize,  and  to  preach,  and  to  teach  in 
His  name ;  they  were  the  first  Bishoiis  of  the 
Church  of  Christ. 

But  there  were  only  eleven  Apostles  now 
in  Jerusalem  ;  where  was  the  twelfth  ?  Alas  I 
one  of  those  chosen  ones  had  committed  the 
fearful  sin  of  betraying  his  Master  :  the  place  of 
the  traitor  Judas  was  vacant. 

Whilst  the  others  were  waiting  in  Jerusalem 
for  the  Spirit  of  Truth  to  come  to  them,  St. 
Peter  jjroposed  that  they  should  choose  one  ot 
the  followers  of  their  Lord — that  is,  one  of  the 
jjcople    who   had    loved    Him,    and   who    had 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


239 


■believed  that  He  -was  indeed  the  promised 
Messiah — to  fill  the  place  of  Judas,  and  they 
asked  God  to  show  them  whom  He  would  have 
them  choose  ;  and  they  prayed,  and  drew  lots, 
and  the  lot  fell  upon  Matthias,  and  he  was 
nunihered  amongst  the  Apostles. 

Ten  days  had  passed  away  since  the  first 
Ascension  Day,  and  on  the  Jewish  feast  of 
Pentecost,  the  Apostles,  and  those  who  had 
helieved  in  Jesus,  were  in  that  upper  room 
at  Jerusalem  where  they  used  to  meet  together 
to  pray,  and  talk  of  tlieir  Master.  The  day 
seemed  to  them  like  all  the  other  days  that 
had  passed  since  He  had  left  them.  But  quite 
suddenly  there  was  a  sound  as  of  a  rushing 
mighty  wind,  and  a  strange,  hright  light  shone 
into  the  room,  and  flames  of  fire  in  the  shape  of 
tongues  fell  upon  the  head  of  each  of  the 
Apostles,  and  forthwith  those  poor  ignorant 
fishennen  began  to  speak  all  kinds  of  languages, 
which,  in  all  their  lives,  they  had  never  even  so 
much  as  heard. 

Now  there  were  a  great  many  Jews  living  far 
away  from  the  land  of  Canaan,  who  were  in 
Jerusalem  at  that  time,  and  who  could  only 
speak  the  language  of  the  country  from  whence 
they  came.  Numbers  of  these  foreign  Jews 
used  to  come  up  to  Jerusalem  for  the  Feast  of 
the  Passover,  and  stay  over  the  day  of  Pente- 
cost, and  to  them  those  poor  fishermen  told  the 
glorious  message  of  salvation  in  the  various 
languages  in  which  the  strangers  spoke. 

Many  of  them  could  not  but  believe  in  this 
Jesus  of  Nazareth,  of  whom  St.  Peter  s-poke  to 
them ;  many  of  them  could  not  refuse  to  be 
baptized  in  His  name ;  and  the  number  of 
Christians  gathered  together  in  that  upper  room 
at  Jerusalem  before  the  day  of  Pentecost  was 
about  a  hundred  and  twenty.  In  a  very  short 
time  there  were  no  less  than  three  thousand 
foUoNA'crs  of  tlie  Lord  in  the  Holy  City ;  and  as 
more  people  came  to  hear  the  Gospel,  the  king- 
dom of  God  grew  daily  larger  and  larger. 

Those  first  Christians  led  very  holy  Hves ; 
they  were  very  kind  to  the  poor,  and  those  v/ho 
liad  money  shared  it  with  those  who  had  none  ; 
and  they  took  care  of  the  widows,  and  the 
orphans,  and  the  weak,  and  the  sick,  for  they 
had  ever  before  them  the  life  and  example  of 
their  King,  '  Who  went  about  doing  good.' 

'  Tinder  tlie  King's  Banner.' 


'TALKING   TO    JESUS.' 

A  LITTLE  girl  passing  the  door  of  her 
mother's  room,  heard  the  murmur  of  a 
voice  earnestly  praying.  '  Dear  mother  is 
talking  to  Jesus,'  she  whispered  to  herself. 

Presently,  when  the  mother  left  the  room,  her 
little  cliild  ran  to  her,  and  asked,  '  Did  Jesus 
answer  ?     Did  he  say  "  Yes,"  mother  ?  ' 

Do  you,  little  reader,  expect  an  answer  to 
your  prayers  ?  or  do  you  only  repeat  them  as  a 
form,  saying  the  words  without  meaning  them  ? 

If  you  ask  earnestly,  rightly,  Jesus  will 
answer;  for  He  promised  to  do  so  when  He  said, 
'  Ask,  and  ye  shall  receive.' 

ELLA'S   PROTECTOR. 

A  TRUE  STORY. 

EALPH  and  Ella  were  the  best  of  friends, 
and  would  play  all  day  long  without 
thinking  of  quarrelling  ;  hut  this  was,  I  think 
partly  because  Ralph  being  a  year  the  elder,  and 
a  boy,  would  give  way  to  Ella  in  everything,  and 
always  let  her  choose  what  their,  games  should 
be.  He  was  quite  '  a  gentleman  of  the  old 
school '  in  his  little  way,  and  no  Imight  in  the 
days  of  chivalry  could  have  been  more  deferential 
to  his  lady's  wishes  than  was  Ralph  to  his  baby 
sister — '  because  she's  a  "  dirl,"  you  know,' 
seemed  to  him  quite  a  good  reason  for  all  his 
unselfish  actions. 

Ralph's  love  for  Ella,  however,  led  to  a  ter- 
rible catastrophe  one  day.  The  two  little  ones 
were  at  tea  in  the  nursery,  when  the  schoolroom 
party  (two  elder  boys  and  a  girl)  determined  to 
dress  up  as  Indians,  and  pay  them  a  visit  in 
costume ;  for  when  one  lias  taken  the  trouble  tO' 
dress  up,  every  one  in  the  house  is  called  upon  for 
admiration.  In  rushed  the  Indians  with  painted 
faces  and  uttering  noisy  war-whoops.  Ella 
screamed  with  fear,  and  nurse  was  about  to  drive 
the  noisy  '  Indians '  from  her  premises,  when 
Ralph,  who  finnly  believed  they  were  '  had  red 
men,'  hastily  snatched  up  the  bread-laiife  and 
struck  at  the  foremost  Indian,  saying  in  a  trem- 
bling little  voice,  '  You  shan't  hurt  my  haby  I ' 

Poor  Indian  !  he  received  an  ugly  gash  from 
that  heavy  knife.  A  doctor  had  to  be  sent  for, 
and  the  wound  se\vn  up  ;  but  even  now,  thirty 
years  later,  the  '  Indian '  has  a  deep  cut  across 
his  forehead — an  undying  testimony  to  Ralph's 
naiata.keH  bravery.  E.  A.  B. 


240 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


Playmates. 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


241 


Vy-w   >    *; 


"  He  trudged  valiantly  back  again."' 

I 


242 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


GAEL'S    HUNTING    EXPEDITION. 

AEL  played  at  being  a  famous 
cliamoisvliunter.  He  shouldered. 
his  toy  guii  given  to  him  on 
his  last  birthday,  and  sallied 
forth  from  the  chalet  attended 
by  his  two  little  doggies :  they 
should  be  the  hounds  and  he  a 
famous  Alpine  hunter. 

Partout  and  Xav,  the  two 
doggies  aforesaid,  appeared  to 
enjoy  the  prospect  of  a  little 
ramble  with  Master  Carl ;  Itut, , 
alas  for  the  enterprise  I  only  half-way  across  the 
farm-yard,  just  where  the  stacks  and  the  cow- 
sheds meet,  there  was  Nancy,  the  goat,  looking 
over  the  very  stile  which  Carl  would  have  to 
cross!  Nancy,  bold  and  impudent,  seemed  to 
say,  '  You  come  here,  Master  Hunter,  and  I'll  eat 
you,  and  your  hounds  too  I  Dare  to  slay,  even 
in  fancy  and  fun,  my  relation  and  dear  friend, 
the  chamois,  and  I'll  teach  you  sometMng  I' 

Perhaps  this  way  so,  or  perhaps  it  was  only 
the  carrot  that  Carl  carried  in  his  hand,  inno- 
cently nibbling  the  end,  as  boys  will,  that 
tempted  Nan's  fancy ;  at  any  rate,  Carl's  vaiour 
vanished, — he  thought  no  more  of  the  chamois  : 
this  goat  was  a  dreadful  reality :  would  she  not 
butt  at  him  ?  knock  liim  down,  jjerhaps,  and 
even  worse '?  No  I  no  !  home  again,  as  fast  as 
possible.  Here,  Tout  I  here,  Xav !  And  tucking 
a  little  doggie  under  each  arm,  he  trudged 
valiantly  back  again,  giving  a  look  behind  now 
and  again,  though,  to  see  if  old  Nancy  was 
coming  after  him. 

Chamois-huntiog  was  all  ver^'  well  without 
the  chamois,  but  when  he  appeared  in  the  shape 
of  a  fierce  goat,  then  "'twas  time  to  be  off. 

So  at  least/ iTiought  Carl  Kohner ;  but  then 
he  was  but  a  little  boy.  H.  C. 


THROUGH    THE    WAVES. 

A  I'AKABLE. 

THEEE  is  a  stoi-y  told  of  a  steamer,  on  a 
voyage  from  California,  taking  fire,  and  of 
many  precious  lives  being  lost  in  that  terrible 
disaster ;  and  amongst  the  brave  deeds  of  that 
dreadful  scene  is  one  that  speaks  to  us  as  in  a 
parable. 


When  the  alarm  of  '  fire '  was  given,  many  of 
the  passengers  helped  the  crew  in  their  efforts  to 
quench  the  flames,  and  it  was  only  when  it 
became  certain  that  the  ship  must  be  lost  that 
the  thought  of  self-preseiwation  arose  ;  then  the 
captain,  who  had  put  the  vessel's  head  towards  the 
land,  passed  the  word  along,  that  as  soon  as  she 
touched  the  shore,  if  they  were  fortunate  enough 
to  reach  it,  those  who  coiikl  do  so  should  try  to 
save  themselves,  for  the  boats  were  burning. 

When  the  blazing  vessel  was  not  many  hun- 
dred yards  from  the  rocks,  a  passenger  was  seen 
buckling  a  heavy  belt  of  gold  round  his  waist, 
making  ixiady  to  phmge  into  the  waves. 

Just- at  that  moment  he  was  stopped  by  a 
pleading  voice,  and  turning  himself,  he  saw  a 
little  child,  who,  with  tearless  eyes  of  terror, 
implored  him  to  save  her  :  she  could  find  neither 
father  nor  mother  on  the  crowded  deck. 

For  a  moment,  but  only  a  moment,  he  hesi- 
tated ;  the  thought  of  the  little  one's  life  was  in 
the  balance  with  the  yellow  gold. 

Unbuckling  the  belt,  he  cast  it  from  him ; 
and  stooping  down,  said,  'Yes,  little  girl,  I  v:ill 
try  to  save  you.  There,  clasp  your  arms  round 
me,  so  !  No  child,  not  so  tight — you  will  choke 
me.  Now  hang  on  bravely  so,  and  we'll  give 
ourselves  to  God ;  may  He  save  us  both  I ' 

The  little  child  clnng  tightly  to  his  broad 
shoulders,  and  strong  man  as  he  was,  those  little 
frail  arms  seemed  to  give  him  double  strength 
as  he  struck  out  for  the  shore. 

Wave  after  wave  rolled  over  them,  and  still 
the  brave  fellow's  head  came  up,  and  the  little 
child  held  on,  till,  a  few  yards  from  shore,  a 
larger  wave  than  before  took  her  breath  away, 
washed  her  little  hands  loose,  and,  rolling  him 
over  and  over,  dashed  him  senseless  upon  the 
beach.. 

Kind  hands  were  waiting  to  snatch  tlie 
victims  from  the  surf,  and  when  he  recovered 
consciousness  a  little  child  was  bending  over 
him,  unable  to  speak  for  tears,  but  looking 
volumes  of  mute  gratitude. 

It  is  a  parable  teaching  us  to  carry  in  our 
hearts  the  souls  of  our  children,  to  boar  them  up 
through  life's  storms,  to  cling  to  them  in  spite  of 
the  waves  of  sm  and  error.  And  then,  jierhaps, 
when  we  get  to  the  other  shore,  \\a  niay  find 
waiting  to  welcome  us,  the  little  ones  wg  have 
tried  to  save. 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


M:J 


MIXED     PICKLES. 


(Continued  from ]]age  22S.) 


WONDEE  wliere  Bryda  is?" 
said  grandaiotber.  Slie  liad  been 
\vaiting  evei'  so  long  for  her  knit- 
ting, for  which  she  had  sent  her 
granddaughter  to  the  garden. 
'  I  hope  she  is  not  in  mischief,'  said 
Sir.  Sej'iuour. 

'  JMost  hkely  she  forgot,'  said  Uncle 
Jack,  who  had  come  in  again.  '  I 
will  go  to  the  garden  and  look  for  the  little 
puss.' 

In  the  garden  he  did  not  see  Plaj^es,  but  met 
Jim  Dawson,  and  asked  if  he  had  seen  Miss 
Bryda.  Jim  told  him  that  she  had  gone  down 
the  lane,  and  off  he  went  in  pursuit. 

You  may  suppose  Bryda  was  glad  to  hear 
his  firm  steps  on  the  hard  gi'ound,  and  to  call 
to  him  as  he  came  down  the  lane  without  fear  of 
his  going  off  and  lea\-ing  her. 

But  Uncle  Jack,  though  he  sent  the  dog  off 
and  helped  her  doAMi,  suppressed  any  inclination 
he  may  have  had  to  laugh,  and  asked  for  grand- 
mother's knitting  very  gravely.  Nor  did  he 
seem  to  think  that  Beppo's  threatened  punish- 
ment justified  her  disobedience. 

'If  he  stole  the  fruit  he  deserved  to  be 
punished,  and  you  ought  not  to  try  and  screen 
him,  Bryda.  You  may  be  sure  Hayes  would  b?; 
careful  not  to  punish  him  else.  He  has  boys  of 
his  own.' 

So  Bryda,  very  down-hearted,  walked  by  'his 
side  back  to  the  house.  He  would  not  interfere 
nor  let  her  go  on  to  Roger,  and  all  she  could  do 
was  to  i'etch  the  knitting,  and  hope  the  grannies 
would  forgive  her  disobedience. 

Perhaps  the  reason  why  Bryda,  with  the  best 
intentions,  got  into  trouble  when  she  least  ex- 
pected, was  because  she  did  not  stop  to  think, 
but  went  off  in  a  gieat  hurry  to  carry  out 
her  plans. 

By  the  time  she  reached  the  garden,  three 
quarters  of  an  hour,  or  perhaps  an  hour,  had 
passed.  She  went  straight  to  the  tool-house, 
Beppo  was  not  there.  She  called,  and  no  one 
answered ;  the  gardeners  had  gone  to  their 
dinner,  so  Bryda,  rather  slowly  and  sadly,  went 
in  to  get  ready  for  her  own. 


CHAPTEE  XVI. POOR  WOLL 


"\"^''hile  Bryda  was  running  -nnldly  down,  the 
lane.  Cousin  Salome  had  a  ver)' .unusual  sort  of 
visitor.  An  untidy  girl,  who  had  taken  more 
time  to  put  ribbons  in  her  hair  than  to  brush  it, 
and  whose  necklace  of  glass-beads  matched  ill 


^^»:<y 


with  her  unmended  frocL ,  stood  by  the  couch  of 
the  gentle  invalid.  It  had  taken  a  long  while 
for  Moll  Dawson  to  gather  courage  to  come  up 
to  the  house,  though  Cousin  Salome  had  sent 
many  messages  by  her  maid ;  but  here  she  was  at 
last,  looking  half  impudent,  half  bashful,  and 
altogether  uncomfortable,  till  Cousin  Salome 
gradually  melted  her  shyness  by  talking  about 


244 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


the  adventiire  of  the  bull,  and  ahout  Eryda,  and 
Beppo,  and  various  other  things.  Then  gently 
she  began  to  talk  about  the  girl's  own  past  life, 
and  again  Moll  spoke  in  the  hard  defiant  voice 
which  told  how  truly  unhappy  she  was. 

'  Did  you  ever  go  to  church?'  asked  Cousin 
Salome. 

'  Yes,  I  went  into  a  church  once,'  said  JIoll, 
thoughtfully,  'an'  I  heard  a  preachin',  and  the 
parson  talked  about  children  of  wrath,  and  tne 
bad  place  waiting  for  'em.' 

'  Oh,  yes  I  I  can  read  and  write  after  a  fashion,' 
she  went  on  in  answer  to  Cousin  Salome's  ques- 
tions.    '  I  went  to  school  only  half-time,  and 


even  there,  and  whisper  discontent,  and  fretful- 
ness,  and  impatience  to  the  sufferer  who  had  lain 
there  so  long  ;  but  Salome  smiled  again,  because 
she  Iniew  that  the  promise  was  for  her  and  for 
poor  IMoll,  'When  thou  passest  through  the 
waters,  I  am  with  thee.' 

And  in  her  gentle,  low-toned  voice,  she  began 
to  tell  the  poor  ignorant  girl  of  that  good  Shep- 
herd who  gave  His  life  for  the  sheep. 

'  Even  for  mel'  said  lloll,  at  last,  and  buried 
her  face  in  her  hands  and  sobbed.  It  seemed  too 
good  to  be  true. 

Cousin  Salome's  maid,  hearing  the  sobs,  came 
from  the  next  room,  fearing  that  the   invalid 


worked  in  the  factory  the  other,  so  as  not  to 
have  too  much  school.' 

And  Moll  drew  herself  up,  and  laughed  and 
showed  her  white  teeth,  and  was,  to  all  ap- 
pearance, quite  proud  of  being  so  naughty. 
But  all  the  same  she  gave  a  little  sigh  as  she 
looked  again  at  the  invalid's  white,  sweet  face, 
and  pitying  eyes. 

'  I  reckon  you've  alwaj's  been  good,'  she  went 
on  rapidly.  '  It  isn't  hard  for  the  likes  of  you 
neither.' 

She  looked  round  the  white,  quiet  room,  and 
Cousin  Salome  looked  too,  and  she  sighed  a 
moment  before  she  smiled  again  w'ith  a  happier 
thought. 

Ah,  there  were  temptations  in  that  still, 
comfortable  room,  too.     Evil  spirits  could  enter 


would  be  over-tired  ;  and,  by  way  of  making  a 
change  of  conversation,  began  to  tell  how  she 
had  been  in  the  garden,  of  Hayes's  wrath,  and 
Beppo's  punishment. 

'  And  no  wonder  he  shoidd  turn  out  badly, 
ma'am,'  she  said;  'they  tramping  foreigners 
aren't  likely  to  come  to  good.  Let  him  go  to  the 
Union,  I  say.' 

Moll  Dawson  had  listened  attentivel}'.  Now 
she  rose,  put  on  her  crushed  hat,  and  smoothed 
its  showy  but  shabby  red  feather. 

'I'll  come  again — may  I,  miss'?'  she  said. 
'  It's  like  going  to  heaven  to  come  in  here.' 

Salome  gave  her  a  ready  welcome,  and  Moll's 
heavy  step  became  a  careful  tiptoe  walk  as  she 
crossed  the  room. 

[To  he  continued.) 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


245 


Vlil.    33 


AN  OUTLINE  TEXT  TO  COLOUR. 


2  to 


6"  UNDA  V  Re  A  DING '  FOR   THE  1  ^0  UNO. 


RAGAMUPPIN     TOM. 

{Continued  Jrovi par/c  237.) 
CHAPTER  VI. TOM  MAKES  AN  ACQUAINTANCE. 


OM  liad  no  iutentioii  of  not  re- 
turning. He  was  fond  of  his 
queer  old  landlady,  who  had 
certainly  been  very  kind  to  him ; 
lie  was  very  sorry  for  the  mis- 
chief he  had  done,  and  intended 
10  repair  it  as  soon  as  possible  by  making 
Mvi.  Middleborougli  a  present ;  but  to  make  a 
present  needed  mauy  weeks  of  careful  saving  of 
halfpence. 

In  going  out,  he  instinctively  intended  to 
return  when  he  thought  Mrs.  Middleborough's 
anger  had  subsided. 

He  wandered  about,  looking  now  into  this 
shop  and  now  into  that,  just  to  jDass  away  the 
time.  Presently  a  kiud-looking  gentleman,  who 
had  been  observing  him,  touched  him  on  the 
slioidder  and  said,  '  Should  you  like  to  learn  to 
read  and  write,  my  boy  '? ' 

'  Yes,  sir.    I  do  know  a  little.' 

'  That's  right  1  So  much  the  better.  Come  in 
here,  and  we  shall  soon  see  how  much  j'ou  already 
know.' 

As  he  spoke,  Mr.  Eoss  opened  with  a  latch- 
Ivcy  the  door  of  the  house  by  which  he  and  Tom 
were  standing,  and  led  the  way  into  a  room 
where  there  were  rows  of  benches  with  long 
desks  before  them  ;  behind  most  of  the  desks  were 
seated  young  men  and  boys,  who  all  arose  on 
the  entrance  of  Mr.  Ross. 

'  I  have  brought  you  a  new  companion,'  he 
said,  addressing  the  scholars.  '  Sit  down  here,'  he 
continued,  tm-nmg  to  Tom,  and  indicating  a  seat 
at  an  nnoccupied  desk  ;  '  sit  down  here.  But 
first  tell  me  your  name  and  whei-e  you  live.' 

Saying  this  he  opened  a  book,  in  which  many 
names  were  written  with  the  address  after  each, 
and  prepared  to  add  that  of  the  new  boy, 

'  My  name  is  Tom  Lark,  sir.' 

'  Where  do  you  live '? ' 

'  At  No.  10  John  Street,  sir  ;  at  Mrs.  Middle- 
borough's.' 

'  Oh  :   Is  she  a  relation  ?  ' 

'  No,  sir,  I've  got  no  relations.  Never  had  a 
mother  nor  yet  a  father  to  sjDeak  of,  sir.' 

There   was  a  titter  among  the  boys,  one  of 


wiiom  came  out  with  the  old  joke  of,  '  'Specs  lie 
growed.' 

This  was  instantly  quelled  by  a  look  from 
Mr.  Ross,  who  continued  to  question  Tom  in  hid 
kind  voice. 

'  Poor  boy  1  you  never  knew  your  parents  ? ' 

'  No,  sir ;  never  laiew  anybody  who  knew 
them.' 

In  answer  to  a  question  as  to  his  age,  lie 
replied,  '  They  say  I  am  about  twelve ;'  but  who 
the  '  they '  were  he  would  u  jt  divulge,  for  he 
had  no  intention  of  referring  in  any  way  to 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lucas,  still  dreading  his  reception, 
after  what  had  passed  with  Mrs.  Knox. 

Having  taken  do-\\ai  these  particulars,  Mr. 
Ross  proceeded  to  the  business  of  the  evening, 
which  he  commenced  by  reading  a  psalm,  ex- 
plaining it  as  he  went  on,  after  which  all  sang  a 
hymn.  Books  and  slates  were  then  produced 
and  lessons  began.  Tom  acquitted  himself 
pretty  well ;  and  after  showing  him  a  list  of 
figures  to  copy  and  setting  him  to  learn  some 
tables,  Mr.  Eoss  left  him  to  himself. 

At  nine  o'clock  work  was  over,  and  after 
wishing  the  boys  good-night,  and  teEmg  Tom 
to  bo  sure  to  come  regularly,  Mr.  Eoss  took  his 
departure.  One  of  the  young  men,  whose  duty  it 
was,  saw  that  everything  was  put  tidy,  and  then, 
turning  out  the  gas,  shut  and  locked  the  door. 

Tom  hastened  home,  overjoyed  to  think  that 
he  was  now  really  on  the  road  to  knowledge, 
very  proud  that  he  already  knew  the  first  column 
of  the  arithmetic-table  and  had  wTitten  a  whole 
page  of  a  copj'-book.  He  had  also  loolced  at  a 
large  map  hanging  on  the  wall,  and  JMr.  Eoss 
had  explained  to  him  that  it  represented  Eng- 
land, Scotland,  and  "Wales,  showing  him  Ireland 
lying  to  the  west.  He  saw  many  other  maps 
hanging  on  the  walls  of  the  school-room,  and 
longed  to  ask  questions  about  them.  He  heard 
the  names  of  so  many  subjects  for  study,  that  he 
felt  almost  bewildered,  but  also  delighted  to  thiiik 
that  such  a  vast  field  was  opening  before  him, 
and  he  looked  forward  with  delight  to  his  next 
evening's  school  hour. 

The  night-school  had  been  established  bv  Mr. 


SuA^DAY  Reading  for  the  Young. 


247 


Ross  and  two  of  his  friends,  who  toolc  it  in  turns 
to  come  for  two  hours  every  evening  in  order  to 
teach  and  encourage  any  respectable  young  men 
ami  bovs  who  wished  to  improve  themselves.  It 
was  often  hard  work  ;  but  their  interest  did  not 
flag,  and  they  were  greatly  pleased  when  a  hard- 
working, intelligent  lad  like  Tom,  appeared. 

The  storm  at  Xo.  10  John  Street  had  blown 
over,  and  Mrs.  Middleborough  was  very  pleased 
to  see  Tom  back  again.  She  had  provided  a 
treat  for  his  sirpper  in  the  shape  of  a  large  slice 
of  heavy  suet  pudding  with  plums  in  it,  which 
she  had  fetched  from  a  shop  near.  This  delicacy 
cost  a  penny,  and  was  held  in  great  favour  by  all 
the  children  in  the  neighbourhood.  The  gift  was 
♦accepted  gi-atefullj-,  and  peace  resumed  its  sway 
in  the  Middleborough  domain. 
{To  be  continued.) 


AN  ODD    SPELLING-BOOK. 

THEY  tried  to  teach  some  of  the  little 
chimney-sweepers  to  read.  .  This  was  many 
years  ago,  when  young  lads  were  used  to  go  up 
the  black  chimneys ;  and  a  cruel  life  it  was. 

Amongst  others  in  that  grimy  city  class  there 
came  one  very  little  fellow,  and  they  asked  him 
if  he  knew  his  letters. 

'  Oh,  yes.' 

'  Do  you  spell '? ' 

'  Oh,  yes,'  again. 

'  Can  vou  read  ?  ' 

'  Oh,  yes.' 

'  And  what  book  do  you  learn  from  ?' 

'  Oh,  I  never  had  <a  book,  sir.' 

'  "Who  then  was  your  schoolmaster  ?  ' 

'.Oh,  I  never  was  at  school.' 

Here  was  a  curious  case — a  boy  who  could 
read  and  spell  without  a  book  or  master.  And 
then  they  discovered  that  another  little  sweep,  very 
little  older  than  himself,  had  taught  him  to  read 
by  showing  him  the  letters  over  the  shops  in  the 
streets  of  the  great  city. 


TWO    LITTLE    DTJCKIES. 

TWO  httle  Duckies 
Set  off  one  day, 
With  a  T\'addle,  waddle,  waddle ; 
They  ^vanted  to  have 
Some  fun  and  some  play 
With  a  toddle,  toddle,  toddle. 


So  first  they  met 

A  great  big  dog. 
With  a  waddle,  waddle,  waddle ; 

But  they  liid  behind 

A  thick  pine  log. 
With  a  toddle,  toddle,  toddle. 

Then  next  they  came 

To  a  gi'eat  high  wall, 
With  a  waddle,  waddle,  waddle 

But  they  really  couldn't 

Get  over  at  all. 
With  a  toddle,  toddle,  toddle. 

They  said  to  each  other, 

'  We  now  must  go  home 
With  a  waddle,  waddle,  waddle, 

And  be  quite  contented 

No  more  to  roam 
With  a  toddle,  toddle,  toddle. 

So  home  they  went 

To  their  mother  dear, 
With  a  waddle,  waddle,  waddio, 

To  the  old  farmyard. 

With  nothing  to  fear, 
With  a  toddle,  toddle,  toddle. 

JoANXA  McKean. 


OF 


A  DOG'S    POWER 

REASONING. 


FAVOURITE  dog  of  a  now 


well-known    artist 
ways     celebrated 


al- 
his 


was 
for 
sagacity,  but  in  some  in- 
stances he  showed  a  power 
of  reasoning  that  was  very 
wonderful. 
The  house  was  undergoing  repairs,  the  painters 
and  paper-hangers  were  about  the  place,  and 
among  other  things  the  old-fashioned  chain  bell- 
pull  had  been  painted,  so  that  jMilffl  could  not, 
as  was  his  custom,  take  it  Ln  his  mouth  and  pull 
it  when  he  wished  to  be  admitted. 

The  dog  evidently  thought  it  over,  and  ti-ied 
to  pull  the  bell  with  his  paw;  but  having  failed 
in  this,  he  pulled  it  an  far  as  possible,  and  then 
rolled  on  it ;  and  the  weight  of  his  body  effected 
swch  a  peal  that  it  startled  the  whole  of  the 
household. 

jMike  was  not  to  be  denied. 


248 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


"  Mike  startled  the  whole  household." 


SuxDA  V  Reading  for  the  Young. 


249 


Animals  of  the  Bible. — Sheep. 

K  K 


250 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


THE    AHIMALS    OP    THE    BIBLE. 

The  Sheep. 

kHE  domestic  slieep  is  one 
of  the  most  trusting  and 
obedient  of  the  animals  man 
has  tamed,  and  the  lamb,  its 
offsjJring,  the  most  gentle  and 
innocent  of  ci'eatm-es.  But, 
you  may  ask,  Are  not  all  sheep 
tame  ?  ISTo  ;  in  some  countries  there  is  a  species 
of  wild  sheep  which  roam  about  the  wastes,  or 
feed  on  the  sides  of  the  mountains,  and  are 
rather  like  wild  goats  in  disposition.  So  that 
there  is  a  difference  in  the  ways  of  sheep  when 
they  are  left  to  take  care  of  themselves,  and 
when  they  trust  themselves  to  man. 

But  they  are  not  difficult  to  tame;  and  this 
may  have  been  one  of  the  first  employments  of 
Abel  while  he  was  yet  a  boy,  to  gather  a  flock 
of  sheep  together,  and  watch  over  them  day  by 
day  in  some  green  valley. 

We  read  in  the  fourth  chapter  of  Genesis  that 
'  Abel  was  a  keeper  of  sheep.'  After  this  first 
mention  of  the  sheep,  it  is  spoken  of — would 
you  believe  it  ? — five  hundred  times  in  the  Bible  I 
You  can  count  and  see.  You  can  count  up,  too, 
tlie  i^eople  who  were  shejsherds ;  and  you  ^A-ill 
find,  as  you  already  know,  perhaps,  that  they 
were  some  of  the  most  important  and  the  most 
interesting.  Jacob  and  Joseph,  Moses  and 
David,  were  amongst  them.  Some  of  them 
kept  their  fathers'  flocks,  because,  though  they 
were  rich  men,  and  could  have  paid  servants  to 
do  it,  yet  it  was  thought  honourable  and  worthy 
to  be  so  emploj-ed. 

Like  the  horse,  dog,  cat,  ox,  and  pig,  the 
sheep  has  assumed  the  greatest  possible  variety ; 
but  they  all  must  have  originated  from  Abel's 
flock. 

Of  the  tame  sheep  there  are  not  less  than  forty 
distinct  kinds.  Some  are  without  homs,  while 
others  have  these  appendages  very  large,  and  of 
funny  shape ;  some  are  covered  -ndth  long,  crisp 
wool :  others  have  the  wool  lank  and  straight ; 
while  yet  other  kinds  have  no  wool  at  all,  but, 
instead,  a  coat  of  hair  resembling  that  of  a 
fpaniel  or  NcTS-foundland  dog.  There  are  sheep 
in  Tartary  that  eat  bones  lilve  dogs,  and  in 
Hindustan  and  Nepaid  there  are  kinds  that  have 
four  horns  each. 


There  are  two  kinds  of  sheep  well-known  in 
Palestine  now,  and  they  have  been  in  the  land  as 
long,  i>robably,  as  men  have.  One  of  these  is 
almost  the  same  as  ours ;  the  other  is  much 
longer  in  the  legs,  with-  long  ears,  and  a  tail 
which  is  so  large  as  to  be  quite  a  burden  to  the 
animal  when  it  has  got  very  fat.  Some  of  these 
tails  have  weighed  as  much  as  thirty  and  forty 
pounds,  and  reached  eighteen  inches  in  length. 
To  keep  them  from  dragging  on  the  ground,  and 
getting  dirt}'  or  torn,  the  shepherds  sometimes 
fasten  pieces  of  flat  wood  to  them,  and  even  put 
under  them  ■wheels  of  wood,  so  that  the  sheep 
may  move  along  the  better.  The  story  of  sheep 
drawing  their  tails  behind  them  has  sometimes 
been  ridiculed,  but  that  does  not  make  it  the  less 
true. 

It  was  common,  and  is  yet,  in  Syria  and 
Arabia,  to  give  names  to  some  of  the  sheep  in 
the  flock,  and  inany  not  only  understand  a  word 
or  movement  from  the  shepherd,  but  they  know 
him  directly  from  other  persons.  The  shepherd 
never  thinlvs  of  driving  the  sheep :  oh,  no  I  he 
draiDS  them  after  him ;  wherever  he  goes  they  are 
sure  to  follow.  Do  you  know  why  ?  Because 
they  are  fond  of  him.  '  He  goeth  before  them, 
and  the  sheep  follow  him.'  Ah !  you  know  Who 
says  that,  dear  children,  and  you  have  learned,  we 
hope,  as  lovingly  as  the  sheep,  to  follow  Him 
Who  calls  Himself  the  Good  Shepherd. 

Once  a  clergyman,  travelling  in  the  Holy 
Land,  and  struck  with  the  sight  of  the  shepherd 
leading,  said  to  him,  '  Oh,  it's  your  dress  they 
know ;  if  it  were  not  for  your  dress  the  sheep 
would  not  know  the  difference  between  j^ou  and 
me.' 

'  Try  it,'  repUed  the  shepherd. 

So  the  clergyman  put  on  the  sheepskin  coat 
over  his  own  black  one,  and  went  and  stood  at  the 
head  of  the  flock ;  but  they  all  ran  away  helter- 
skelter.  He  called  their  names,  which  the  shep- 
herd had  told  him,  but  they  only  ran  the  faster. 

'  Ah  !  I  see  now,'  said  the  clergyman  ;  '  it  is 
you,  and  not  j'our  dress,  that  they  laiow  and 
love.     "  They  know  not  the  voice  of  strangers."  ' 

Shall  I  now  tell  you  something  of  the  mannfir 
of  tending  sheep  in  Palestine,  and  of  an  Eastern 
shepherd's  life '? 

The  sheep  districts  consist  of  wide  grassy 
plains.  Here  and  there  on  these  plains  there  are 
deep  ravines,  in  whose  sides  lurk  many  a  wild 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


251 


liuast,  the  enemy  cf  the  flocks.  During  tlie  day 
llie  sheep  roam  at  will,  only  kept  from  en- 
croaching on  the  territory  of  another  tribe.  In 
the  evening  they  are  gathered  into  folds.  These 
folds  are  often  natural  caves,  or  else  the  walls  of 
some  ruined  building.  If  these  are  not  to  be  had, 
a  simple  boundary  wall  is  built  on  the  open  plain. 

Owing  to  the  multitude  of  wolves  and  jackals, 
the  shepherds  are  obliged  to  keep  watch  over 
their  flocks  by  night.  Sometimes  has  the  faithful 
shepherd  lost  his  life  in  defending  his  flock.  'The 
Good  Shepherd  giveth  His  hfe  for  the  sheep.' 

The  sheep  is  a  useful  animal.  Its  flesh  is 
good  for  food.  The  wool  of  the  sheep  has  been 
made  into  clothing  from  the  time  of  Job  to  the 
present.  How  numerous  and  how  useful  are  the 
articles  made  of  wool  I  The  sidn  was  used  for 
the  clothing  of  the  poor  and  the  covering  of  the 
tabernacle. 

One  benefit  Eastern  people  have  from  the 
sheep  which  we  cannot  experience — that  is,  an 
abundance  of  milk. 

It  is  a  kind  provision  made  by  God  that  the 
Syrian  sheep  give  much  more  mills  than  is 
needed  for  their  lambs  :  so  that  this  milk  is  not 
only  used  as  a  drink  but  made  into  cheeses. 

And  the  horns  of  the  sheep  were  thought  a 
great  deal  of,  being  made  into  trumpets  and 
vessels  for  oil. 

Then,  sheep  in  patriarchal  times  were  used  for 
sacrifice.  Abel,  ISToah,  and  Abraham  offered 
sheep.  Under  the  Mosaic  law  the  sheep  or  lamb 
was  the  common  sacrifice,  and  formed  part  of  the 
tithes  to  the  Levites  or  priests. 

Beautiful  are  some  of  the  allusions  to  sheep  in 
the  Bible.  Isaiah  has  a  pathetic  illustration  of 
the  sheep  in  relation  to  our  Saviour :  '  He  is 
brought  as  a  lamb  to  the  slaughter,  and  as  a 
sheep  before  her  shearers  is  dumb,  so  He  openeth 
not  His  mouth.' 

In  its  innocence  the  sheep  is  a  type  of  Christ, 
for  He  was  holy,  hannless,  and  imdefiled  ;  in  its 
patience  a  type  ;  also  in  its  liumility,  for  '  He 
made  Himself  of  no  reputation  ;'  in  its  sacrifice 
a  type, — '  The  precious  blood  of  Christ,  as  of  a 
lamb  without  blemish  and  without  spot ;'  in  its 
clothing  a  tj'pe,  as  our  gaiment  of  salvation  and 
righteousness  from  the  Lamb  of  God. 

Dear  children,  I  want  you  to  gather  some 
useful  lessons  from  the  sheep.  As  it  is  so  useful, 
you  must  also  learn  to  be  useful  in  your  day  and 


generation ;  as  it  is  so  obedient,  you  must  also 
be  obedient,  and  learn  to  follow  your  Shepherd. 

But,  in  closing,  I  want  you  to  ask  yourself  this 
question,  Am  I  a  lamb  in  the  fold  of  Christ  ? 
And  then  another,  Shall  I  at  the  last  day  take 
my  place  among  the  sheep  or  the  goats  ? 

T.  S. 

A    LITTLE    MAIDEN'S    BEPLT. 

A  FRENCH  teacher  was  in  the  habit  of 
relating  to  his  pupils,  as  they  stood  in  a 
semicircle  round  him,  stories  of  illustrious  men, 
and  asking  their  opinions  about  them  and  their 
actions,  rewarding  those  who  answered  well  with 
tickets  of  merit. 

One  day  he  told  them  an  anecdote  of  Marshal 
Turenne.  '  On  a  fine  sunmier  day,'  said  he, 
'  while  the  Marshal  was  leaning  out  of  his 
window,  only  his  back  towards  the  room,  his 
valet  approached  with  a  very  soft  step,  and  gave 
him  a  sudden  and  violent  blow  with  his  hand. 
The  pain  occasioned  the  Marshal  to  cry  out ; 
and,  turning  instantly  round,  he  saw  his  valet  on 
his  knees,  imploring  his  forgiveness,  saying  that 
he  thought  it  was  George,  his  fellow-servant.' 

The  question  was  then  put  to  each  of  the 
scholars,  '  What  would  you  have  done  to  the 
servant  had  you  been  in  the  Marshal's  place'?' 

A  haughty  lad,  who  stood  first,  said,  '  I 
would  have  run  him  through  with  my  sword.' 

The  rejjly  shocked  even  his  comrades,  and 
the  master  declared  he  must  forfeit  the  tickets 
he  already  had. 

After  putting  the  question  to  others,  with 
varying  answers,  he  came  at  length  to  a  little 
English  girl,  who  was  a  visitor,  about  eight 
years  old. 

'  Now,  dear,  tell  us  what  would  j'ou  have  done 
supposing  you  had  been  Marshal  Turenne.' 

She  replied,  quite  sedately,  '  I  should  have 
said,  "  Suppose  it  had  been  George  :  why  strike 
so  hard  ?  "  ' 

The  simple  words  drew  smiles  from  the  whole 
school,  and  all  voted  that  she  should  have  the 
prize,  which  such  a  rei^ly  richly  deserved. 


HONESTY. 

Whatever  is  becoming  is  honest,  and  whatever 
is  honest  must  always  be  becoming. 


Cancet 


;>^ 


CANCER. 

SEKE-MONATH,  or  Dry-month,  and  before  that 
Wend-monat,  were  the  names  that  the  Anglo- 
Saxons  gave  to  the  month  of  June,  because  their  cattle 
then  went  to  '  wend  in  the  meddowes.' 

The  ancients  represented  this  month  by  a  young 
man  clothed  in  a  mantle  of  dark  green,  having  his 
head  ornamented  with  a  coronet  of  bents,  king  cobs, 
and  maiden-hair,  bearing  on  his  arm  a  basket  of 
summer  fruits,  and  holding  in  his  left  hand  an  eagle. 
In  his  right  he  had  the  sign  Cancer,  or  Crab,  which 
the  sun  enters  on  the  22nd,  just  when  that  orb  appears 
to  remain  for  a  time  stationary,  and  before  it  begins  to 
recede  :  this  backward  motion  of  the  sun  is  typified  by 
the  sign  of  the  Crab,  whose  motions  are  always  side- 
ways, or  even  backwards. 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


HAPPY 

SUNDAY 

AFTERNOONS. 
No.  V. 


253 


\NHM  DOES 
THE   BIBLE 

SAY  ABOUT 
THE  KING? 


An  easy  Exercise  for  little  learners  to  write  or  say  from  memory. 


ASSOCIATION. 

THE  tree-frog  takes  the  colour  of  -wliatever 
it  clings  to  for  a  short  time.  If  on  tlie 
oak,  it  is  a  l)ro^^•n  colour :  on  the  sycamore  or 
cedar,  a  whitish- red  :  but  when  on  the  growing 
com  it  is  quite  green.  We  are  always  laiown 
by  the  company  we  keep.  A  great  man  once 
said, '  Tell  me  who  are  a  man's  friends,  and  I  will 
tell  you  what  he  is.' 


MIXED     PICKLES. 

{Continued  from  page  244.) 

ONCE  outside  the  house,  however,  Moll 
walked  fast  enough  to  the  garden,  and 
there  went  all  round  the  walks  till  she  found 
Mr.  Hayes.  He  had  finished  his  round  of  the 
vineries,  and  was  just  going  to  the  tool-house 
again,  to  carry  out  his  threat  to  Beppo,  when 
this  wild-looking  girl  met  him. 


254 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


'  Mr.  Hayes,'  she  said,  '  yoii  will  let  that 
foreign  boy  go,  will  yoii?  He  never  took  your 
peaches,  no  more  nor  yen  did  yourself.' 

'  Oh  ! '  said  Hayes,  looking  at  her  ATith  no 
pleased  eyes,  as  she  spoke  thus  holdly ;  '  perhaps 
you  know  who  did  take  them,  if  you're  so  sure 
it  wasn't  Eeppo?' 

'Perhaps  I  do  I' retorted  iloll,  cooUy ;  'any- 
how you'll  not  flog  a  boy  as  hasn't  done  anything, 
I  suppose '?' 

'  Unless  I  know  who  was  the  thief,  I  shall 
suppose  it  was  Beppo,'  replied  Hayes,  sulkily. 
'  Why,  he  owned  it  himself;  but  if  you  can  prove 
some  one  else  did  it,  and  that  the  stone  came 
into  his  pocket  quite  by  accident,  why  then,  of 
course,  I  shall  heheve  you,  Moll  Dawson.' 

He  spoke  in  tones  of  utter  contempt ;  indeed 
poor  jMoU  n-as  not  often  treated  with  much 
respect. 

She  stood  still  a  moment,  with  her  eyes  cast 
down  ;  then,  as  Hayes  began  to  move  on,  with  a 
great  effort  she  said,  '  Well,  there,  then,  I  took 
them  ;  will  that  satisfy  j'ou  ? ' 

'  You  did  ? '  said  Hayes,  scowling  at  her.  '  I 
fancy  you  are  telling  lies,  Moll  Dawson ;  they 
come  easier  to  you  than  the  truth,  I  know.' 

Moll  coloured  crimson,  but  did  not  answer. 

'  I  suppose  you  put  the  stone  into  Beppo's 
pocket  so  as  he  shoidd  be  accused,'  went  on 
Hayes,  looking  searcliingly  at  her. 

IMoU  nodded  in  silence. 

'  I  don't  know  wdio  to  believe,  or  what  to 
believe,'  he  answered.  '  I  hnow  somebody's 
telling  lies,  and  perhaps  it's  both  of  you.  Any- 
how  ' 

Here  he  walked  off  to  the  tool -house  and  un- 
locked the  door. 

'  Come  out ! '  he  said  roughly.  And  Beppo 
came,  lool  '-ig  quite  collected  now. 

'  Look  aere,  young  un,'  said  Hayes,  in  a  very 
much  softened  tone,  '  I've  boys  of  my  o^'s^l, 
and  I'd  be  sorry  to  flog  one  of  them  if  he  didn't 
deserve  it.  Just  you  look  up  at  me  now,  and 
tell  me  the  whole  truth.' 

Beppo  looked  up  in  the  gardener's  face,  and 
his  dark  eyes  were  calm  and  clear:  he  did  not 
look  like  a  criminal. 

His  broken  English  was  rather  funny,  but 
Hayes  soon  imderstood  that  he  had  in  truth  done 
a  small  piece  of  mischief.  His  foot  slipped  as  he 
was  working,  and  he  fell  against  a  melon-frame 


and  broke  a  jjane  of  glass.  A  cut  on  one  finger 
showed  that  he  spoke  the  truth.  As  to  the 
peaches,  he  would  rather  starve  than  touch  one 
of  them.  '  And  I  very  sorry  for  you,  Mr.  Hayes,' 
he  added. 

Hayes  was  quite  touched. 

'  Go  home  and  get  your  dinner.  I  quite  be- 
lieve you,'  my  boy,'  he  said.  '  Stay,  come  in  and 
have  a  bit  of  dinner  with  my  wdfe  and  young 
folks.' 

Beppo  went,  and  from  that  day  forward  had 
a  steady  friend  in  Hayes. 

'As  for  you,  Moll  Dawson,'  said  the  gardener, 
sharply,  '  you  get  along  out  of  this.  And  if 
ever  1  catch  you  anywhere  near  the  garden 
again,  you'll  go  before  the  magistrate,  as  sure 
as  mj'  name's  Hayes.' 

jNIoll  turned  away  without  a  word,  and  went 
slowly  back  to  the  village. 

Light  was  coming  slowly  to  her  dark  mind  as 
the  da\'sni  comes  on  a  troubled  sea.  She  had  told 
a  lie  to  Hayes — for  what  reason,  we  shall  see ; 
but  she  did  not  understand  yet  that  it  was  a 
sin.  '  A  white  lie,'  she  called  it,  a  lie  told  for 
a  good  purpose.  Thinking  over  all  that  Cousin 
Salome  had  said  to  her,  she  went  slowly  home 
and  sought  her  brother  Jim.  Close  to  the 
house  she  met  him. 

'  Jim,'  she  said,  '  I've  told  a  lie  to  save  you 
to-day  ;  uow  you  do  something  for  me.' 

'AH  right,  old  girl,'  said  Jim,  indifferently; 
'  one  lie  more  or  less  don't  matter  much,  I 
reckon.     ^Vhat  do  you  want  out  of  me '? ' 

'  I  said  /  stole  they  peaches,  instead  of  you,' 
said  Moll,  going  on  with  her  story. 

'  My  stars  I '  cried  Jim.  '  What  a  go  !  I 
wonder  old  Hayes  didn't  half  murder  you  I 
What  did  he  say  ?  ' 

'  Never  you  mind,'  said  Moll.  '  I've  got  you 
out  of  a  hole,  and  that's  enough  for  you.  Now 
you  do  something  fur  me — tit  for  tat,  Jim.' 

'  What's  up  now  '? '  asked  her  brother,  struck 
by  a  gentleness  in  her  tone  which  was  quite 
new. 

'  Leave  yon  old  carpenter  and  his  coin  alone,' 
said  she.  '  Look  here,  Jim,  I  never  asked  you  to 
leave  a  good  job  like  that  for  me  before,  but  do 
you  give  up  robbing  him,  there's  a  good  lad.' 

'  Why,  whatever  has  come  to  the  girl  I  and 
you  the  first  to  put  it  in  my  head  to  get  in  at 
night,   and  make  the  old  chap  show  where  he 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


255 


keeps  those  miserly  savings  o'  his  you  say  he 
hides  in  his  house  ! ' 

'Do  you  let  him  alone,  Jim,'  entreated  Moll. 
'  I  know  you  and  Harry  C'.owther  mean  to  get 
in  to-morrow  night,  and  no  one'll  hinder,  for  the 
old  man's  house  stands  a  hit  away.  I'll  not  help 
in  the  job,  Jim,  and  if  you  give  up  too ' 

'What  will  yo\i  give  me?'  sneered  Jim. 
'  Make  it  worth  my  while,  Moll,  and  I  might 
think  of  it.' 

'  How  can  I  ?'  said  Moll.  '  Give  it  up,  Jim. 
Suppose  you  got  caught  ?  ' 

'  You  mean  to  round  on  mo  I '  said  Jim,  savagely, 
seizing  her  arm  as  he  spoke,  and  crushing  it  in 
his  strong  fingers  till  Moll  had  to  set  her  teeth 
not  to  scream  aloud.  '  You  want  to  get  your 
brother  a  nice  pleasant  time  in  jail  I  You're  a 
nice  loving  sister,  you  are  I  Now,  look  you  here, 
Moll ;  j'ou  do  that,  and  I'll  break  every  bone 
in  your  body  as  soon  as  ever  I  get  out  again.' 

'  I'm  not  quite  so  mean,'  answered  Moll ;  '  I 
never  would  get  you  into  trouble,  Jim,  and 
that  you  know  as  well  as  I  do.  Eut  I'll  do  my 
best  to  get  you,  and  Harry  Crowther,  too,  to,  let 
an  old  man  alone.  What's  to  be  done  with  yon 
little  dark-eyed  chap,  him  they  call  Beppo,  or 
some  such  outlandish  name,  if  you  get  all  the 
old  man's  savings  ?  Precious. little  you  care  who 
starves  so  long  as  yoii  get  all  you  want.  Come 
now,  do  this  one  thing  for  me,  like  a  good  lad, 
Jim,'  she  went  on,  with  a  rough  effort  at  coaxing 
him. 

But  Jim  only  told  her  to  mind  her  own 
business.     So  Moll  went  away  and  left  him. 

All  the  rest  of  the  day  she  kept  wondering 
how  this  robbery  could  be  prevented,  and  at 
last,  as  the  evening  closed  in,  an  idea  struck  her. 
If  no  inducement  could  prevail  on  Jim,  she  had 
this  plan  to  fall  back  on. 

She  would  not  'round  on'  Jim;  that  is,  she 
would  tell  no  tales.  She  would  not  tell  tales,  or 
give  warning  to  his  intended  victims,  but  she 
had  an  idea  of  her  0"\\'n.  Whether  she  was  able 
to  carry  it  out  with  success  we  shall  see. 
{To  he  continued.) 


WASHING    OF    FEET. 

WHEN  the  Hindoos  want  to  purify  them- 
selves they  go  to  the  river  and  wash ; 
sometimes  they  live  many  miles  away  from  it, 
and  so  their  feet  get  dirty  before  they  reach 
home.  On  their  journey,  therefore,  they, take 
a  small  vessel  called  a  lota,  in  which  they  carry 
some  of  the  water  wdth  them,  and  standing  on 
a  stone  placed  for  the  purpose  at  their  door, 
they  wash  their  feet  before  entering  the  house. 


THE    ITiTFLTTEIfCE    OF    LOVE, 

THEEE  is  a  comfort  in  the  strength  of  love ; 
'twiU  make  a  thing  endurable,  wliich  else 
would  break  the  heart.  W'oedsworth. 


THE    SWING. 

kll  !  come  for  a  swing 
To  the  old  pear-trea ; 
The  sun  is  shining 

O'er  meadow  and  lea  ; 
The  flowers  are  dancing, 
The  soft  winds  play ; 
Oh  1  come  for  a  swing 
This  bright  svmimer  day. 

Out  ran  the  cHldren 

With  merriest  shout ; 
W^hen  birds  were  singing 

How  nice  to  be  out  I 
The  orchard  was  near; 

W'here  the  pear-tree  stood, 
Just  at  the  entrance 

Of  Primrose  Wood. 

The  tree  was  laden 

W'ith  blossoms  so  fair, 
Which  shower' <i^  like  snow 

On  their  golden  hair. 
As  the  swing  bore  them  up 

Like  birds  on  the  wing. 
How  nierrj'  they  were 

At  the  dear  old  swing  ! 

In  Primrose  Wood 

The  roses  wei-e  blowing. 
And  tlirough  the  green  moss 

The  streamlets  were  flowing ; 
So  they  gathered  a  bunch 

Of  flowers  so  gay 
In  Primrose  Wood 

At  the  close  of  the  day. 

JoASNA  McKeait 


256 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


Goiuff  for  a  Swing. 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


257 


A  Young  Housekeeper. 


258 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


A   YOUNG    HOUSEKEEPER. 

A  BEAUTIFUL  place  it  is,  Lucy,  your 
graudfatliers.  It'  it  only  were  not  such  a 
dreadi'uUy  long  waj'  off,  and  the  journey  money 
so  much,  I'd  have  taken  you  with  me,  child.' 

'  I  wish  you  had,  mother ;  I  should  dearly  like 
to  see  the  village-green  j-ou  have  so  often  told 
me  about.  Were  there  ducklings  walking  ahout 
on  it  still  ? ' 

'  Aye,  that  thei'e  were ;  and  the  veiy  same 
old  goose  that  used  to  frighten  me  so  as  a  child, 
I  do  believe,  was  there,  hissing  away  at  the 
little  ones.  Mickleford's  a  pretty  place,  and 
when  your  father's  m  regular  work  again  we 
must  get  him  to  lay  by  a  bit,  so  that  we  may 
all  have  a  jaunt  there  in  harvest-time.' 

'  That  would  be  nice,  mother  1  I  should  like 
to  see  grandfather's  garden,  too.  Did  these 
geraniums  come  out  of  that,  or  did  he  buy  them 
for  me  '? ' 

'  Buy  I  Bless  your  heart,  child  I  why  your 
grandfather  has  no  need  to  buy  flowers,  the 
garden's  as  full  of  them  as  an  egg  is  of 
meat ;  he  rears  tlieni  all  himself,  and  rare 
beauties  some  of  them  are,  cuttings  from  the 
Squire's  show -plants.  I  reckon  he's  getting 
old  now  to  look  after  them  so  well  as  he  used, 
but  as  long  as  ho  has  breath  in  his  body  I  Imow 
he'll  have,  his  little  place  gay  with  blossoms. 
Eh,  dear,  but  travelling's  .tiring  work  when 
you're  not  i;sed  to  it;  and  what  with  the  trams 
and  the  trains,  and  losing  my  ticket,  I  feel  cpiite 
worn  out.  How  did  you  get  on  without  me, 
Lucy,  while  I  was  away '? ' 

'  Fairly  well,  mother.  Neighbours  were  very 
good  to  me,  and  father  always  got  the  brealvfast. 
But  I'm  vcrj'  glad  you've  come  safe  home 
again.  "Was  grandfather  really  better  when  you 
left  him'?' 

'  That  he  was,  child,  and  the  doctor  said  he 
Avoidd  go  on  mending  nicely  now.  Eh,  the 
many  things  he  asked  me  about  you,  Lucy  I 
We  really  must  make  shift  to  see  him  one  day, 
before  very  long.' 

'  Yes,  mother :  how  can  we  manage  it  ? 
Seven  -  and  -  six  did  you  say  the  ticket  was  ? 
That's  a  lot  of  money  I  But,  mother,  I'm  not 
turned  thirteen,  so  it's  only  half  that  for  me. 
Three-aud-ninepence,  mother — only  that.  TMiy, 
it's  n-o  more  than  a  p  ir  of  boots  would  cost  1' 


'  Ah,  Liicy,  but  boots  have  not  been  so  easy 
to  get  lately,  work's  been  so  slack  ;  but  I'll  tell 
your  father  to  keep  his  eye  on  the  bill-pajiers 
posted  up.  Cheap  trips  go  to  Micldeford  now 
and  then,  and  maybe  we  shall  be  able  to  show 
you  the  place  yet.  Put  the  plants  on  the 
window-ledge,  child ;  it  looks  like  a  shower,  to 
my  mind,  and  rain-water  is  twice  as  good  as  tap- 
water  for  making  things  gi'ow.  Why,  what's 
this?  Scissors  and  thi'ead  !  Yoii've  never  been 
learning  to  mend  stockings  since  I  went  away, 
have  you?' 

'  Look  at  them,  and  see  for  yourself,  mother. 
This  is  hoAV  it  happened  :  I  was  duU  after  I 
had  tidied  up  the  jjlace,  so  I  got  Mrs.  Josher's 
Lizzie  from  below  to  come  up  and  sit  with  me, 
and  she  showed  me  how.' 

'  Well,  I  never  I  I  must  run  away  again,  I 
think,  all  goes  on  so  straight  with  you  to  look 
after  things.  Come  and  give  me  a  kiss,  Lucy ; 
I  feel  quite  like  a  grand  lady,  with  a  house- 
keeper to  manage  everything.' 

'  I  mean  to  get  the  tea ;  so  sit  quiet,  mother, 
and  rest,  and  when  father  comes  in  begin  at  the 
very  beginning  again,  and  tell  me  all  about 
Mickleford.  I  half  fancj'  I  can  see  the  jjlace  and 
the  ducldings.  Oh,  mother,  when  is  hai-vest- 
time  ?     You  said  we  must  go  there  then.' 

•      C.A.C. 

MIXED    PICKLES. 

{Continued  from  page  255.) 

CHAPTER  XVII. 'WHEEE  THIEVES  BKEAK 

THUOUGH.' 

TWO  or  three  nights  after  the  events  related 
in  the  last  chapter,  Eoger  and  Beppo — who 
was  now  as  happy  as  possible — had  gone  to  bed 
cpiietly  as  usual,  and  had  both  fallen  asleep,  when 
Beppo  awoke  with  a  start  and  sat  up  in  bed. 
He  did  not  know  at  first  why  he  had  awakened 
so  suddenly,  and  he  could  hear  by  the  old  car- 
penter's quiet  and  regular  breathing  that  he  still 
slept.  But  Roger  was  a  little  deaf,  and  the 
noise  that  woke  Beppo  was  not  loud  enough  to 
rouse  him.  It  was,  indeed,  not  meant  to  rouse 
anybody,  for,  as  Beppo  was  falling  to  sleep 
again,  he  heard  it  once  more,  and  this  time  sat 
M])  in  bed  and  strained  his  ears  to  catch  the 
somid. 

There  could  be  no  doubt  about  it :  stealthy 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


259 


footsteps  were  moving  outside  ;  whispering 
voices  spealcing  close  to  tlie  house ;  then  tlie 
latch  was  lifted,  very  gently,  and  let  down 
with  a  little  click.  Poor  Beppo,  sitting  up  in 
bed,  felt  his  heart  heat  so  loud  that  he  fancied 
the  p)eople  outside  must  hear  it,  although 
the  room  in  which  he  slept  was  divided  from 
the  Idtchen,  into  which  thieves  were  tr3'ing  to 
reak. 

For  a  moment  he  sat  overcome  hj^  terror, 
hut  it  was  only  for  a  moment.  Quietly  and 
quickly  he  stole  out  of  l)ed,  and  proceeded  to 
dress  himself  as  noiselessly  as  possihle.  He 
wonld  creep  out  of  another  window  —  the 
window  of  the  bedroom — without  disturbing 
Eoger  !  And  in  order 
to  delay  the  thieves, 
in  ease  they  should 
get  into  the  kitclien 
before  he  could  bring 
help,  he  bolted  the 
bedroom  door  on  the 
inside.  Then,  not 
waiting  for  shoes  or 
stockings,  he  gently 
opened  the  casement 
window,  and  began 
to  try  and  wriggle 
through. 

It  was  no  easy 
matter,  especially  as 
the  window  ^^■as  very 
small  and  he  dared  not 
make  a  sound.     The 

house  stood  so  much  apart  that  he  felt  it 
would  be  useless  to  call  aloud  for  help ;  it  was 
probable  no  one  would  hear  him  except  the 
thieves,  who  would  not  give  him  time  for  more 
than  one  shout.  All  the  neighbours  would  be 
sleeping  the  sound  sleep  of  working  men  and 
women,  and  the  only  chance  of  rousing  them 
would  be  to  hammer  on  their  doors  and  rattle 
their  windows  till  they  woke.  A  jxjliceman 
would  take  longer  to  find.  Beppo's  hasty  plan 
was  to  run  for  the  nearest  neighbours — John 
Broome,  the  blacksmith,  and  Alick  Tliornicroft, 
the  shepherd. 

With    much    difficulty,    he    was    squeezing 

through  the  tiny  ^^^ndow,   when,   in  the   faint 

starlight — for  the  night  was  very  dark,  except 

.  for  the  pale  rays  of  a  few  stars  shinmg  between 


spaces  in  the  clouds — he  caught  sight  of  a 
most  extraordinary  object.  The  whidow  of 
the  bedroom  throiTgh  which  he  was  vdiggling 
was  at  the  side  of  the  house,  and  he  could 
hear  the  thieves  working  away  with  some 
tools  to  force  open  the  front  window.  Sud- 
denly the  slight  noise  they  were  making  ceased, 
and  it  seemed  as  if  they  too  were  looking 
at  the  ver}^  strange  figtire  that  now  appeared 
in  sight. 

Slowly  it  came  out  of  the  shade  of  some  dark, 
thick  trees  ;  a  very  tall,  straight  figure,  with 
one  arm  extended,  pointing  to  the  place  where 
the  housebreakers  stood. 

Beppo,  half  out  of  the  window,  gazed, 
horror  stricken,  at  tliis 
object,  which,  with 
the  superstition  of  his 
country,  he  felt  sure 
was  an  evil  spirit, 
come  to  terrify,  or 
perhaps  to  carry  off, 
the  evil-doers.  They 
seemed  frightened  too, 
for  as  the  figure  very 
slowly  moved  along, 
not,  however,  coming 
near  as  yet,  Beppo 
heard  them  whisper- 
ing to  each  other. 

'  Let's     go    home  ; 
I  don't  like   the  look 
of  that — that  thing'.' 
said  one. 
'Who's  afraid?'  sneered  the  other  voice. 
'  Hush  I  it's  speaking,'  said  the  first. 
'  Jim   Dawson,'    said   a  low   deep    tone    that 
seemed  to  come  from  the  figure,  '  I  laiow  you  1' 

'  Come  awa}',  Jim,'  whispered  one  of  the 
thieves.     '  I'm  off.' 

'  Stop,  Harry  Crowther  I '  said  the  figure. 
'Harry,   you   simpleton,    come   back!'    cried 
Jim  Dawson  in  the   same  low,  cautious  tono 
in  which  he  had  all  along  spoken.     '  Look  here, 
lad.' 

As  he  spoke,  he  stooped  and  picked  up  a 
heavy  and  rather  sharp  stone,  which,  with  his 
whole  strength,  he  flung  at  the  figure  that 
stood,  still  pointing  at  liim,  only  a  few  yards 

off. 

[^0  lis.  continued.) 


260 


SujS'DAY  Reading  for  7 he  Young. 


EAGAMUTFIN     TOM. 

(Continued  from  page  247.) 

CHAPTER  VII. A  CALAMITY. 

IT  was  some  time  ere  Tom's  disappearance 
was  discovered  at  The  Hollies  ;  in  fact  not 
until  dinner  was  served,  when  Anne,  the  servant 


Lucas,  quicldy,  a  thought  striking  her  that 
perhaps,  after  all,  Tom  had  turned  out  a  thief. 

'  Yes,  ma'am.     It's  all  right.' 

'  Well,  it  really  is  mysterious.  "VYhat  can  have 
hecome  of  the  boy  ?  But  we  can  do  nothing  until 
Mr.  Lucas  returns.  LIow  unfortunate  that  he  is 
not  coming  home  until  late  to-day  '. ' 


of  all  work,  ashed  her  mistress  if  she  had  sent 
him  anywhere  on  an  errand. 

'  No,  Anne.    Why  do  you  ask  ?' 

'  I  can't  find  him,  ma'am.  After  cleaning  the 
toots  and  knives  as  usual,  he  went  to  dig  in  the 
garden,  and  I  haven't  set  eyes  on  him  since.' 

'  How  very  strange  I  I  remember  now  that 
when  I  came  in  from  my  walk,  I  thought  the 
garden  looked  as  though  it  had  not  been  A^'atered 
as  usual.  But  where  can  Tom  have  gone '? 
Have   you  counted  the  silver  ?  '     added   BL-s. 


All  this  time,  Mrs.  Knox  had  been  sitting 
silent,  listening  to  what  passed,  but  not  offering 
her  opinion.  Neither  did  a  word  of  condem- 
nation escajje  her,  whioli  was  so  unlike  her 
usual  habit  of  fault-finding  that  it  struck  Mrs. 
Lucas  as  being  ijeculiar. 

'  Have  you  seen  anything  of  Tom,  Susan  ?  ' 
she  asked. 

'  Not  lately,'  replied  she  ;  '  I  saw  him  hours 
ago  workmg  in  the  garden.' 

She  said  no  more,  but  in  her  heart  she  felt 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


261 


pretty  conscious  that  her  last  scolding  was  the 
cause  of  his  disappearance.  With  all  her  cross 
words  and  disagreeable  manner,  Mrs.  Knox  had 
a  heart,  and  she  could  not  but  feel  sorry  to 
think  that  she  had  driven  away  the  boy  who 
had  earned  himself  a  place  in  the  household, 
first  by  his  braverj',  and  secondly  by  his 
steady  work  and  pleasant  ways.  The  wish  to 
manage  the  affairs  of  others  her  own  way, 
and  the  love  of  scoldiug,  had  so  grcwn  upon  her 


change  was  approaching  one  of  the  inhabitants, 
a  sorrow  which  was  to  be  developed  into  a 
lasting  joy  and  peace. 

One  afternoon  towards  the  end  of  the  autumn 
Kate  was  alone  in  the  garden,  when  the  postman 
pushed  a  roughly  tied-up  newspaper  into  the 
letter-box.  Kate  took  it  out,  and  seeing  that 
it  was  directed  to  her  aunt,  at  once  hastened 
to  take  it  to  her,  without  noticing  the  peculiar 
T^Titing  in  which  it  was  directed.     Since  Tom's 


that  she  seemed  to  have  forgotten  the  pleasure 
it  is  to  give  jjleasure.  Once,  long  ago,  she  had 
been  different,  and  it  was  the  remembrance  of 
their  girlhood's  companionship  that  helped  Mrs. 
Lucas  to  bear  patiently  the  interfermg  ways  of 
her  sister. 

It  was  little  to  wonder  at  that  Mrs.  Lucas 
thought  her  brother-in-law's  expedition  abroad 
was  as  much  in  search  of  peace  as  on  business. 

All  inquiries  for  Tom  were  unavailing,  and  at 
length  the  search  was  given  up. 

There  was  little  variety  in  the  lives  of  onr 
friends   at   The  Hollies ;     but,  indeed,  a  great 


*  vHM 


departure  Mrs.  Knox  had  resumed  her  fault- 
finding with  the  household  in  general,  and 
the  children  were  always  glad  of  an  oppor- 
tunity of  doing  something  for  her  which  might 
jjut  her  into  a  better  temper,  at  any  rate  for 
a  time. 

Kate  knew  that  her  aunt  was  particularly 
anxious  just  then  for  news  of  her  husband,  as 
there  had  been  an  unaccountable  delay  in  the 
receipt  of  his  letters ;  either  they  had  been 
lost  in  the  post  or  he  was  too  ill  to  write, 
for  two  or  three  mails  had  come  in  without 
bringing    any    tidings.      As   Blr.    Knox   was 


262 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


almost  the  only  correspondent  her  aunt  had, 
Kate  took  for  granted  that  the  newspaper  was 
from  him;  she  did  not  pause  to  notice  that  it  was 
not  his  writing,  nor  to  observe  that  the  stamp 
was  Englisli. 

All  unconscious  of  harm,  the  little  girl  tripped 
into  the  house,  and  ran  upstairs  as  fast  as  she 
eould,  her  knock  at  her  aunt's  door  being  answered 
by  a  gruff',  '  Come  in.' 

'  Here  is  a  newspaper  for  you,  Aunt  Susan,' 
said  Kate,  entering  the  room. 

I\Irs.  Knox  seized  it  eagerlj^,  and  opened  it  at 
once.  She  had  hardly  glanced  over  the  first 
page  when  her  face  became  white  and  rigid,  and 
she  stood  grasping  the  back  of  a  chair  near  her, 
but  without  uttering  a  sound. 

Kate  ran  for  Mrs.  Lucas,  who  hastened  to  lior 
sister  and  found  her  standing  as  Kate  had  left 
her  ;  between  them  they  managed  to  lay  her  down 
on  the  sofa,  where  she  remained  still,  silent,  and 
as  pale  as  death.  Tlie  doctor  was  sent  for,  and 
directly  he  saw  her  he  said  she  had  suffered 
some  shock  to  the  nerves,  and  that  every  efl'ort 
must  be  made  to  rouse  her. 

Everybody  was  so  busy  following  out  his 
directions  that  the  newspaper  which  had  fallen 
from  ilrs.  Knox's  hand  lay  unnoticed  on  the  floor. 
Presently,  however,  it  caught  Mrs.  Lucas's  eye, 
and  picking  it  up,  she  hastily  ran  her  eye  over 
the  news,  quickly  discovering  the  cause  of  the 
sudden  illness  which  had  seized  Mrs.  Knox. 

Kate  was  deeply  grieved  that  she  should  have 
been  the  means  of  carrying  such  trouble  to  her 
aunt,  and,  always  impulsive,  she  rushed  down- 
stairs and  threw  herself  on  the  drawing-room  sofa, 
sobbing  bitterly,  resolving,  as  she  had  resolved 
many  a  time,  never  again  to  act  with  haste  and 
precipitation.  Margaret,  who  had  followed  to  try 
and  comfort  her,  pointed  out  that  even  if  she  had 
taken  the  paper  to  their  mother  the  result  might 
have  been  the  same,  as  no  one  would  have  dared 
to  open  and  read  it  before  giving  it  to  their  aunt. 

The  news  which  had  been  so  thoughtlessly 
sent  was  the  account  of  a  fearful  massacre  of 
English  travellers  in  Africa,  Mr.  Knox  and  his 
friends  being  mentioned  as  among  the  victims  ; 
further  particulars  Avere  to  follow,  for  the  in- 
telligence had  only  amved  just  as  the  mail  was 
about  to  be  despatched. 

Nothing  that  was  done  for  her  seemed  to  take 
any  effect  on  the  invalid.     She  was  put  to  bed, 


where  she  remained  passive  and  apparently 
lifeless ;  and  Mrs.  Lucas  -now  and  then  put  a 
sjjoonful  of  broth  bet-sveen  her  lips,  hoping  that 
she  -woidd  swallow  a  few  drops. 

Late  in  the  afternoon,  ILargaret  and  her 
mother  were  sitting  in  the  side-room  talking 
quietly  together,  and  lamenting  the  fate  of  their 
kind  uncle,  when  the  door  opened,  and  who 
should  walk  in  but  Mr.  Knox  himself  I 

His  appearance  was  so  startling  that  Margaret 
almost  screamed  when  she  saw  him.  His  hearty 
embrace,  however,  qnickly  dispelled  any  doitbt 
of  his  reality.  He  mentioned  that  he  had  seen 
Kate  downstairs,  who  had  told  him  of  her 
aunt's  illness,  and  he  had  purposely  come  up 
unannounced,  thinking  that  any  stir  would  be 
beneficial  to  liis  wife  in  her  present  state. 

He  approached  her  and  sijoke  cheerfull}'.  At 
fii'st  she  merely  shivered  slightlj',  but  on  his 
repeating  her  name  she  opened  her  eyes,  looking 
him  full  in  the  face,  but  without  recognition. 
All  at  once  she  knew  him,  and  a  smile  gradually 
took  the  place  of  the  vacant  expression  her  face 
had  worn ;  she  then  suddenly  burst  into  tears. 

All  danger  was  now  over  :  kind  nursing  and« 
rest  of  mind  and  body  would  speedily  restore 
Mrs.  Knox.  {To  be  continued.) 


THE    BLACKBIED'S    NEST. 

THE  sea  was  laying  calm  and  still 
Within  the  sand-girt  bay, 
While  up  beyond  the  grassy  slopes, 
Scented  with  new-mown  hay. 

The  morning  air  was  fresh  and  cool. 

The  sky  was  cloudless  too, 
While  sea-birds  flecked  with  snowy  wing 

Its  deep  ethereal  blue. 

And,  twining  round  in  native  wealth, 

A  hedge  of  brambles  stood  ; 
Clusters  of  blossom,  white  as  milk, 

Adorned  the  branches  rude. 

And  what  within  ?     Ah,  loolc  and  see 

The  little  nestlings  here  I 
Cosy  within  the  sheltered  home. 

With  ne'er  a  thought  of  fear. 

Four  little  balls  of  softest  down  ! 

Four  little  mouths,  so  wide  1 
Eight  little  ej'es  of  darkest  bro^^^l  I 

And  mother  by  their  side 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


263 


She  loves  her  tiny  fledglings  so. 
And  shields  them  with  her  ^ving, 

She's  longing  for  the  time  to  come 
\Yhen  they  wiU  soar  and  smg. 

Then  who  will  rob  this  mother's  nest  ? 

Oh,  surely  not  a  boy — 
One  who  has  known  a  mother's  love, 

And  is  that  mother's  joy  '? 

Think  of  3ior  mourning  throngh  the  woods, 
When  evening  brings  her  home, 

Jf  she  should  find  an  empty  nest, 
"With  all  her  darlings  gone  I 

Joanna  McKean. 


DO    WHAT    YOU    SAY. 

'  E  read  of  King  Oswald, 
that  as  he  sat  at  table 
and  a  fair  silver  dish,  fuU 
of  delicacies,  was  set  be- 
fore him,  just  as  he  was 
about  to  commence  eating 
ho  heard  from  his  almonea- 
that  there  were  a  great 
many  j)Oor  people  at  his 
gates,  piteously  ci-ying 
out  for  some  rehef. 
He  did  not  fill  them  with  words,  such  as  'God 
help  them  I'  '  God  relieve  them  I'  '  God  comfort 
theml'  But,  leaning  back,  he  commanded  his 
steward  to  take  the  dish  off  the  table  and  dis- 
tribute the  meat,  then  to  break  the  dish  to  pieces 
and  cast  it  amongst  them. 


^'l^-S: 


A   BRAVE    GIBL. 

ABEAVE  giri:  Then  it  is  not  either  of 
the  girls  represented  in  Ihe  picture,  I  am 
sure,'  will  perhaps  be  the  exclamation  of  some, 
on  reading  my  title  ;  and,  really,  I  must  confess 
that  just  now  Hilda  seems  far  from  courageous, 
and  she  is  infecting  her  younger  sister,  Avis, 
with  her  timidity,  which  is  certainly  a  pity. 
Indeed,  I  may  as  well  say  at  once  that  my  little 
friend  Hilda  is  sadly  wanting  in  some  sorts  of 
courage.  For  instance  :  coavs  of  all  sorts  are  a 
real  terror  to  her;  she  calls  them  all  'wild  bulls' 
in  her  own  mind.  Even  that  tame,  respectable 
old  cow  in  the  picture,  she  dare  not  pass  -udth- 
out  dread,  I  know.     But,  for  all  that,  she  i& 


a  brave  girl  I  There  are  two  sorts  of  courage; 
and  it  is  quite  jjossible  to  have  one  sort  without 
possessing  the  other.  I  will  tell  you  a  little 
story  out  of  Hilda's  life,  and  then  you  will 
perhaps  find  out  what  sort  of  courage  she 
possesses. 

Hilda  does  not  always  live  in  the  country ; 
perhaps  if  she  did  she  would  be  less  foolish  about 
'  wild  bulls.'  Her  real  home  is  in  London, 
where  she  goes  to  a  day  school.  After  the 
Easter  holidays  a  new  pupil  joined  her  class 
— the  Honourable  Emiha  Deschamps — a  very 
grand  young  lady,  with  a  long  silk  dress  and  a 
great  deal  of  jewelry.  This  girl  had  not  been 
well  brought  up.  She  was  an  orphan,  and, 
though  rich,  had  been  much  neglected.  How- 
ever, she  was  a  clever,  high-spirited  girl,  and 
being  older  than  the  rest,  and  richer  and  '  finer,' 
she  was  made  much  of  by  a  good  many  of  her 
school-fellows,  who  thought  it  rather  grand  to  bo 
friends  with  such  a  stylish  young  person. 

One  day — it  was  jttst  after  the  Scripture 
class — Emilia  began  jesting  and  laughing  about 
what  they  had  lnjt'n  learning,  and  at  last  she 
even  dared  to  make  a  silly  riddle  from  the 
sacred  words  of  tlie  Bible.  Some  of  the  more 
thoughtless  of  the  girls  laughed  and  applauded  ; 
tlie  others  were  silent.  They  did  not  like  it, 
but  Emilia  was  sarcastic  when  offended,  and 
they  were  afraid  of  her. 

But  Hilda  was  not  afraid ;  she  could  be  brave 
for  God ;  and  though  she  got  very  red,  she 
spoke  up  firmly. 

'  Emilia,  those  are  our  Lord's  own  words  that 
you  are  joking  upon.  I  am  sure  you  have  for- 
gotten that,  for  you  would  not  be  irreverent 
towards  Him ; '  and  then  poor  Hilda  stopped, 
expecting  the  bitter,  mockmg  laugh,  and  feeling 
very  confused  and  hot. 

Emilia  looked  flushed  and  angry  for  a 
minute ;  but  the  next  she  exclaimed  heartily, 
'  You  are  a  brave  girl,  Hilda,  to  speak  out  so 
boldly;  you  are  right,  and  I  was  wrong'.'  .A.nd 
she  was  quieter  and  more  gentle  for  some  time 
after. 

Now  have  you  found  out  that  it  is  moral 
courage  that  Hilda  possesses  ?  It  is  a  nobler 
sort  of  courage  than  physical,  for  that  the 
animals  share  with  us ;  but  moral  courage  be- 
longs to  man  alone,  and  shines  brightest  of  all 
hi  the  Christian.  E.  A.  B. 


2G4 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


4yy^^ 


A  Brave  Girl  Afraid. 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


265 


Outside  and  Inside. 


2GG 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


OUTSIDE   AND   INSIDE. 

ERTAINLY  Jane    Eltliam  had 

not  prepossessing  looks ;   she  had 

a  some\^hat   hold   face,  and   her 

dress  was  'outrageous:'  at  least 

so  said  Mrs.  Lane,  the  Doctor's 

wife.     '  She  wondered  what    that    little 

widow  could  be  thinking  of  to  take  the 

over-dj'essed,  empty-headed  girl  as  nurse 

to  that  gentle  little  one  of  hers.' 

Mrs.  Lane  was  apt  to  be  severe  in  her 
remarks,  but  there  was  a  shadow  of  truth  in 
what  she  said,  as  she  stood  behind  her  drawing- 
room  curtains  and  watched  Jane  and  pretty 
little  Beatrice  go  past  for  their  morning's  walk  ; 
Beatrice  looldng  like  a  snowdrop  in  her  soft, 
white  costume,  whilst  Jane  might  have  been 
likened  to  a  tulip,  with  her  red-trimmed  hat  and 
her  flounces  of  blue. 

But  do  not  judge  only  by  oiitward  appear- 
ances, or  j'ou  may  hve  to  be  sorry  for  it,  as  Mrs. 
Lane  was.  Jane's  dress  was,  perhaps,  the  worst 
part  of  her,  but  her  mistress  hoped  in  time  to  be 
able  to  teach  her  better  taste.  Jane  had  not 
been  long  in  service,  and  in  the  first  novelty  of 
having  money  to  spend  she  had  bought  both 
vulgar  and  unsuitable  things ;  but  she  was  already 
learning  something  of  the  gentle.  Christian  ways 
of  the  widow's  household,  and  the  widow  herself 
was  full  of  the  charity  that  '  hopeth  all  things.' 
The  rest  would  follow  in  time  ;  and  as  for  Jane's 
loud  voice,  the  widow,  being  herself  sad,  was  glad 
to  find  a  joyous,  playful  nurse  for  her  only  child. 
'  Let  us  go  and  gather  primroses  in  Seller 
Lane,'  said  little  Beatrice  this  morning. 

'  Aye,  that  will  be  just  the  thing  1 '  said  Jane 
in  her  hearty,  loud  voice ;  and  to  the  lane  they 
went.  But  the  finest  primroses  grew  on  the  bank, 
among  the  stinging-nettles,  and  Beatrice  was 
afraid  of  being  stung. 

'  Sit  you  there  a  bit,'  said  good-natured  Jane, 
'  and  play  with  your  doll.  I'll  fetch  you  a 
bunch  in  a  jiff)'.'  And  she  placed  the  little  girl 
on  a  log  of  wood  by  the  road-side,  and  climbed 
the  high  bank  in  search  of  the  flowers.  She  was 
high  abo'v'e  tlie  lane,  when  she  was  startled  by 
the  rapid  rumbling  of  wheels — the  lane  was 
never  jiassed  by  carts,  there  was  a  better  and 
shorter  road — what  could  it  be  ? 

She  luirried  down  witii  all  speed  to  her  little 


Beatrice.  Ah  1  she  was  only  just  in  time,  for 
a  runaway  cart  was  coming  towards  them, 
increasing  every  moment  in  speed,  and  the 
horses  were  wildly  plunging  from  side  to  side. 

Jane  caught  up  the  little  girl,  and  did  at  once 
the  only  thing  that  could  save  her ;  the  brave 
nurse  exerted  all  her  strength  and  threw  the 
child  over  the  hedge,  into  the  soft  clover-fiekl 
beyond. 

Beatrice  was  safe,  but  the  force  of  the  throw 
caused  Jane  to  lose  her  footing.  She  fell,  the 
heavy  wheels  passed  over  her,  and  she  lost 
her  life. 

Jane  had  many  mourners,  and  none  more- 
sincere  than  Mrs.  Lane.  '  Who  was  I,  to  judge- 
another  ?  '  said  that  ladj',  sadly.  '  Jane  might 
not  dress  as  I  thought  fit,  but  she  was  good 
within.  Should  I  have  forgotten  my  own  safety, 
and  given  my  life  for  another,  as  she  did  ? ' 

Jane's  grave  never  lacked  a  wreath,  and  if  it 
was  Mrs.  Lane  who  placed  it  there,  as  she  often 
did,  she  would  always  choose  the  gayest  flowers- 
in  season.  '  Jane  liked  bright  colours,'  she  would 
say  softly,  as  if  Jane's  very  failings  were  dear 
to  her  now.  E.  A.  B. 


MIXED    PICKLES. 

{Continued  from  page  259.) 

WHEN  the  stone  struck  the  figure,  it  fell 
with  a  deep  groan  to  the  earth ;  and  it 
lay  in  a  confused  heajj — motionless. 

'  Well  done,  Jim  I '  said  Harry  Crowther ; 
and  the  worthy  couple  went  to  work  again  on 
the  window-frame. 

Beppo  delayed  no  longer,  but  got  quietly  out 
of  the  window,  dropped  carefully  to  the  ground, 
stole  away  till  he  reached  a  dark  shadow,  avoid- 
ing the  spot  where  the  heap  lay,  and  then  was 
oif  like  the  wind,  down  the  lane,  and  up  the 
blacksmith's  garden  path. 

Meantime,  the  burglars  easily  made  for  them- 
selves an  entrance  through  the  window,  and 
went  searching  the  kitchen,  poking  into  cveiy 
nook  and  corner  to  find  the  old  carpenter's, 
hidden  riches. 

'  This  is  no  go  !'  said  Crowther  at  last,  find- 
ing absolutely  nothing  but  a  very  old  silver 
watch,  which  he  promptly  pocketed.  '  We  must 
wake  the  old  bo)',  and  ask  him  where  the 
"  swag  "  is.' 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


267 


' Riglit,  mate!  Misers  alwaj-s  liave  some  queer 
hole  of  their  own  to  put  their  tin  in,'  answered 
Jim,  still  lumting  ahont  the  kitchen. 

The  sound  of  a  saucepan  falling,  which  Jim's 
dumsj'  hands  let  go,  woke  old  Roger,  who, 
seeing  a  light  in  the  kitchen,  suddenly  appeared 
in  the  doorway  with  an  old  coat  hastily  thrown 
over  his  shoulders. 

'  Look  1  he's  saved  us  the  trouble,'  said  one  of 
them. 


-A 


\- 


n 


m 


'Ah I'  growled 
the  other.  '  He'll 
know  us  now, 
and  we'll  be  had 
up  for  this.' 

Jim  Dawson 
seized  tlie  poker, 
and,  advancing 
to  the  old  man, 

brandished    it        

above  his  heacl. 

'  Now  look  here,  old  Roger,' 
lie  said, '  we  want  your  money, 
but  we  don't  want  your  life 
— that's  no  use  to  us.  Now 
just  give  us  up  those  savings, 
quiet  and  peaceable,  and  off 
we  go,  if  you  promise  first 
to  bold  that  tongue  of  yours.' 

'  Old  miser  1  '  went  on 
Harry  Crowther,  '  where  do 
you  keep  all  your  gold  '? 
but  with  it:' 

'  I  have  no  gold,  my  lad,' 
answered  old  Roger.  His 
voice  trembled  a  little ;  it 
may  have  been  from  cold,  or 
from  fear,  or  both. 

'  That's  a  lie  I '  cried  Jim. 
''"Who  told  little  miss   at  the  house  up   there 
about  all  the  treasure  he  kept  hid  away  ?    Come 
now,  out  with  it  quietly,  before  I  make  you.' 

'  Ah  1  I  understand,'  said  old  Roger,  quietly. 
'  There's  plenty  of  tliat  treasure  for  thee,  my 
lad,  enough  and  to  spare.  It's  all  in  here,  all  iu 
here.' 

He  tottered  slowly  across  the  floor — such  a 
feeble  old  man  he  seemed  1 — till  he  reached  his 
little  workshop  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
Iritchen.  Into  this  room  the  thieves  followed 
him,    mth    eyes    ftdl    of    greedy    expectation. 


Roger  went  up  to  a  little  table,  and  took  there- 
from an  old  book  in  strong,  plain  bindmg,  that 
seemed  to  have  been  much  used. 

There  -were  probably  bank-notes  hidden  be- 
tween the  pages,  thought  the  burglars,  and  Jin: 
Dawson  snatched  it  from  his  hand  roughly. 

'  It's  all  there,  ''  where  neither  moth  nor  rust 
doth  corrupt,  and  where  thieves  do  not  break 
through  nor  steal,"'  repeated  old  Roger. 

Jim  Dawson  rapidly 
I  searched  the  book,  holding 
it  upside  down,  that  any- 
thing loose  might  fall  out, 
and  examining  the  cover,  to 
see  if  there  were  any  secret 
place.  But  it  was  only  an 
old  Bible,  and,  \vith  a  yell,  he 
sprang  at  the  defenceless  old 
man,  and  would  have  injured 
him  seriously,  had  it  not  been 
that  at  this  moment  there 
came  a  sound  of  the  door 
opening,  and  footsteps  in  the 
kitchen. 

Beppo  had  come  with  the 
blacksmith  and  the  shep- 
l:erd,  and  a  sturdy  young 
farmer,  whom  he  had  met  on 
the  waj'  back. 

The  thieves  were  caught 
in  a  trap.  Beppo,  creeping 
quietly  through  the  larger 
window,  had  let  in  these 
kind  friends  ;  and  before  Jim 
Dawson  and  his  bad  com- 
panion could  think  of  escape 
they  were  seized  by  strong 
hands  and  held  fast. 

A  policeman  was  soon 
brought,  and  as  tliey  and  their  captors  were 
leaving  the  house  they  passed  that  queer 
heap. 

'  What's  this  ? "  said  Thornicroft ;  '  some  one 
been  following  you?' 

'  Some  one  tried  to  frighten  me,'  said  Jim 
Dawson,  sullenly,  '  so  I  up  with  a  stone.' 

'  And  killed  your  own  sister,'  said  the  black- 
smith, raising  the  figure  gently. 

It  was  indeed  poor  Moll ;  but  she  was  not 
dead. 

{To  be  continued.) 


.      \ 


268 


SuNDA  Y  Reading  for'  the  Young. 


LEO. 

~r~    EO  is  tlie  sign  for  July,  the  montli  once 
*   -^   called  Quintilis,  but  altered  by  the  famous 
Marc  Antony  to  Julius,    out  of  respect  to  the 
memory  of  bis  illustrious  friend  Julius  Csesar. 

Tbe  month  is  usually  depicted  as  a  strong, 
robust  man,  with  a  swarthy,  sunburnt  face,  nose, ' 
and  hands,  eating  cherries  or  other  fruit,  and 
clothed  in  a  light  yellow  jacket,  at  the  girdle  of 
which  hangs  a  bottle :  a  garland  of  thyme  en- 
circled his  head.  On  his  shoulder  he  carries  a 
scythe ;  and  at  his  side  stands  Leo,  the  Lion, 
which  sign  the  sun  enters  on  the  23rd  of  the 
month,  during  which  the  heat  is  generally  more 
violent  than  at  any  other  season. 

It  was  called  by  the  Anglo-Saxons  Hey-monat, 
or  Hay-month,  because  it  was  their  usual  hay 
harvest 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


269 


BAGAMTTFFIK"     TOM. 

(Continued  from  page  2G2.) 
CHAPTER  VIII. TOM  AT  SCHOOL. 


"  OJNI  felt  that  lie  had  now  reached 
a  turning-point  in  his  life. 
Surely  he  had  only  to  work 
hard,  and  any  amount  of  learn- 
ing would  be  the  reward  1  But 
such  plain  sailing  is  given  to 
very  few ;  and  perhaps  it  is  not 
to  he  desired,  for  hard  work  and  suffering  may 
brace  up  a  mind  which  too  great  prosperity 
would  render  careless  and  indifferent. 


Our  hero  made  no  acquaintances.  In  Kiver 
Alley  he  had  kept  rather  to  himself,  but  having 
lived  there  from  his  babyhood  he  was  more  or 
less  friendly  with  the  other  children,  although  his 
natural  honesty  had  always  dra^^^l  a  line  between 
most  of  them  and  himself.  This  had  excited 
no  ill-will,  for  in  spite  of  quarrels  and  street 
fights,  which  occasionally  enlivened  the  little 
community,  they  lived  together,  on  the  whole, 
■with  a  tolerable  amount  of  good  fellowship.     It 


^^•as  different  now,  however,  for  Tom  had  no 
hold  of  life -long  acquaiutance  with  any  of  the 
young  men  and  boys  who  were  his  companions 
at  the  night-school.  Some  of  them  had  Imown 
him  by  sight,  and  wondered  where  he  came  from 
when  he  suddenly  appeared  in  the  neighbourhood 
selling  his  cresses.  They  were  ready  enough 
now  with  their  questions,  to  which,  however,  they 
onl)'  got  short  answers.  Tom  soon  found  that  the 
boys  at  the  school  were  not  much  to  his  mind ;  he 
had  no  sympathy  Avith  their  schemes  for  shirking 
their  lessons  or  playing  practical  jokes  during 
school-time,  and  he  wondered  greatly  that  they 
should  care  to  come  if  they  did  not  want  to  learn. 

He  felt  so  indifferent  towards  them,  and  was 
so  absorbed  in  his  tasks,  that  it  was  some  weeks 
before  he  observed  that  his  school-fellows  had 
other  than  friendly  feelings  towards  him.  Mr. 
Eoss  had  from  the  first  been  struck  with  Tom's 
countenance,  and  watched  mth  great  interest  his 
improvement,  not  only  in  his  studies,  but  also  in 
his  general  appearance.  Of  course,  when  he  or 
the  other  gentlemen  were  engaged  with  the  class 
in  which  Tom  was,  there  were  no  visible  signs 
of  ill-will  among  the  boys.  The  young  men  who 
attended  the  school  were  a  set  apart,  who  took  no 
notice  of  the  boys ;  they  were  very  busy  during 
the  day  in  shops,  and  came  entirely  for  the  sake 
of  improvement :  like  Tom,  they  were  hard- 
workers. 

After  a  time,  Tom  began  to  be  conscious  that 
there  was  something  amiss.  Apparently  by 
accident,  his  slate  or  book  would  receive  a  knock 
or  sly  pull,  which  would  msset  his  thoughts  and 
pucker  up  his  forehead  in  his  search  after  the 
idea  which  had  been  lost  by  the  disturbance. 

One  evening,  when  he  was  particularly  busy 
over  a  difficult  sum,  he  was  continually  annoyed 
by  a  low  hissing  noise  near,  which  made  it  im- 
possible to  work.  He  looked  up  impatiently,  but 
found  all  the  heads  bent  down  with  an  appearance 
of  great  industry ;  no  sooner  did  he  begin  again, 
however,  than  the  noise  began  also.  He  felt 
pretty  sure  that  a  boy  named  Bob  was  making 
the  noise,  but  it  would  be  impossible  to  prove  it. 
By  this  time,  Tom's  ideas  had  become  perfectly 
confused,  and  he  sat,  with  his  unfinished  sum 
before  him,  wondering  what  he  should  do. 


270 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


"VYhen  tlie  teaclier  looked  at  the  various  slates, 
lie  was  not  a  little  surprised  to  find  that  the 
usually  industrious  Tom  had  hardly  done  any- 
thing 

'  How  is  this,  Tom  ?  Are  you  not  well  ?  ' 
asked  he. 

The  other  boys  all  loolced  up,  some  with 
hardly  concealed  delight  expressed  on  their  faces. 
'  Now  the  prig  will  catch  it  I '  was  the  thought 
which  charmed  them.  They  were,  however,  dis- 
appointed, the  teacher  only  saying  that  doubt- 
less Tom  was  overtired  and  had  better  go  home. 

'  Thank  you,  sir;   I  think  I  had.' 

He  would  have  liked  to  add  something  about 
the  annoyances  to  which  he  was  subjected  ;  but 
they  were  so  vague  that  he  felt  it  would  be 
worse  than  useless ;  besides,  he  felt  vexed  with 
himself  for  minding  them.  He  returned  home 
dispirited  at  his  first  school  failure. 

'  Back  already,  Tom?'  remarked' Mrs.  Middle- 
borough. 

'  Yes,  I  coiildn't  do  anything  to-night,'  re- 
plied he  with  a  sigh;  and  so  down-hearted  did  he 
feel,  that  he  readily  followed  his  landlady's 
advice,  which  was  to  go  to  bed  and  sleep  off 
Lis  headache. 

He  was  much  more  comfortably  lodged  now. 
Still  in  the  scullery,  certainly,  but  he  had  a  low 
iron  bedstead,  a  mattress,  and  a  couple  of 
blankets,  which  made  a  really  comfortable  bed 
for  him,  although,  no  doubt,  some  little  boys 
and  girls  who  read  this  would  object  to  sleeping 
in  blankets,  and  say  they  scrubbed ;  but  then 
blankets  without  sheets  are  far  better  than  the 
bare  floor,  or  an  old  mg. 

The  next  morning,  Tom  arose  refreshed  ;  and 
feeling  quite  different  to  the  depressed  boy  who 
had  lain  down  the  night  before.  He  set  off  in 
good  spirits  to  the  market,  to  buy  his  supply  of 
cresses.  He  had  now  several  regular  customers, 
and  every  one  seemed  wishful  to  purchase  from 
him  to-day;  so  his  basket  was  very  soon  empty, 
and  he  had  made  a  clear  profit  of  two  shillings. 

There  was  nothing  piarticular  to  do,  so  he 
stood  about  looking  for  odd  jobs,  such  as  calling 
cabs  or  holdmg  horses.  As  he  v/aited,  his  mind 
reverted  to  his  worry  of  the  previous  evening, 
and,  further  back  still,  to  Mrs.  Knox.  It  would 
have  been  wiser  to  put  aside  these  thoughts,  but 
Tom  did  not  try  to  do  so,  and  became  more 
and  more  angry  as  he  continued  to  think.     It 


was  not  an  enviable  frame  of  mind, — one  of  the 
misfortunes  attendant  on  idleness. 

Presently  his  eye  was  caught  by  a  newspaper 
placard,  He  read  it  carefully,  and  without  a 
moment's  hesitation  bought  a  paper,  which  he 
folded  and  tied  securely  with  a  piece  of  string, 
then,  going  into  a  post-office,  he  bought  a  stamp, 
and,  after  directing  the  paper  with  the  pen  and 
ink  on  the  side-table  at  the  office,  he  posted  it, 
feeling  quite  a  glow  of  satisfiiction  at  the  pain 
he  hoped  he  should  cause  his  old  enemy,  Mrs. 
Knox,  to  suffer. 

The  feeling  of  satisfaction,  however,  did  not 
last  long,  for  Tom  knew  what  was  riarht  now 
better  than  he  did  some  months  ago,  and  had 
he  not  encouraged  his  feelings  of  anger  and 
annoyance,  he  would  not,  in  his  spite,  have  posted 
the  paper.  He  did  not,  however,  anticipate  any 
great  result  from  his  action,  for  he  did  not  give 
JMrs.  Knox  the  credit  of  caring  much  even  for 
her  husband.  He  wished  to  give  her  a  shock, 
but  not  a  very  severe  one 

(To  he  continued.) 


GREAT   ENDS    ATfD    LITTLE 
BEGINNINGS. 

A  TALE  is  told  of  a  Vizier,  who,  having 
offended  his  master,  was  condemned  to 
captivity  for  life  in  a  lofty  tower. 

At  night  his  sorrowing  wife  came  to  weep 
beneath  his  wndow. 

'  Cease  your  grief,'  said  he  ;  '  go  home  for  the 
present,  and  return  when  j'ou  have  procured  a 
live  beetle,  together  with  a  little  butter  and  three 
skeins — one  of  the  finest  silk,  another  of  pack- 
thread, and  the  third  of  whipcord;  and,  last,  a 
stout  coil  of  rojie.' 

When  she  came  again  to  the  foot  of  the  tower, 
provided  according  to  her  husband's  desire,  he 
directed  her  to  touch  the  head  of  the  insect  with 
a  little  of  the  butter,  to  tie  an  end  of  the  silk 
around  him,  and  place  him  on  the  wall  of  the 
tower. 

Attracted  by  the  smell  of  the  butter,  which  if 
thought  was  a  store  just  somewhere  above  its 
head,  the  beetle  continued  to  ascend  the  tower  till 
it  reached  the  top.  The  Vizier  took  the  end  of  the 
silk,  drew  up  the  packthread  by  its  means,  then  the 
small  cord  with  the  thread,  and  with  the  cord  the 
coil  of  rope,  by  which  he  escaped  from  his  prison. 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


271 


SXJNBAYS. 

BEI(~tHT  shadows  of  true  rest;  some  shoots 
of  bhss; 

Heaven  once  a-week ; 
The  next  •world's  gladness  prepossessed  in  this ; 

A  day  to  seek 
Eternity  in  time  ;  tlie  steps  Ly  which 

We  climb  above  all  ages ;  lamps  that  light 
Man  throngli  his  heap  of  dark  days,  and  the  rich 
And   full    redemption  of   the   whole   week's 
flight : 
The  i^uUeys  uuto  headlong  man  ;  time's  bower ; 

The  narrow  way ; 
Transplanted  Paradise;   God's  walldng  hour — 

The  cool  o'  the  day ; 
The  creature's  jubilee ;    God's  parley  with  tlie 
dust; 
Heaven  here  ;  man  on  those  hills  of  myrrh,  of 
flowers ; 
Angels  descending  ;  the  returns  of  trust ; 

A  gleam  of  glory  after  six  days'  showers ; 
The  Church's  love-feast ;   time's  prerogative 

And  interest 
Deducted  from  the  whole ;  the  combs  and  hive, 

And  home  of  rest ; 
The  milky -W'ay  chalked  out  with  suns ;  a  clue 
That  guides  through  erring  hours ;  and,  in  full 
story, 
A  taste  of  heaven  on  earth — the  jJedge  and  cue 
Of  a  full  feast,  and  the  outcomts  of  glory. 

Heney  Vaughan. 


DEJECTED    NED. 

CAN  hardlj'  believe  my  ears  I  Can 
it  be  true  what  Grip,  the  house-dog, 
told  me  ?  Twenty  years  I  have 
served  my  masters  faithfully  on  this 
farm ;  done  the  ploughing  contentedly 
day  by  day,  and  alw^s  gone  in  the 
trap  to  market  on  Saturdays.  And 
now,  lodgers  are  coming  I  '  Fine 
London  folk,  who  will  be  too  grand 
to  sit  behind  poor  old  me,'  as  Grip  heard  them 
say  at  supper  last  night. 

A  new  fly  -  away  sort  of  pony  is  to  be 
bought  at  the  next  fair,  to  draw  these  grand 
people  about  the  country  and  to  church.  They 
must  not  put  him  in  the  stall  next  mine,  or  I 
shall  feel   inclined    to  give   him   a  bit   of   my 


mind.  Going  to  market  on  Saturdays  is  just 
what  keeps  me  cheerful  and  happy.  The  hostler 
at  the  'George'  counts  on  my  coming,  and 
always  gives  me  the  best  feed  of  oats  of  all  the 
nags,  because  I've  been  so  regular  all  these 
j-ears. 

Too  old,  indeed,  is  far  \)etter  than  too  yoimcj, 
for  my  taste.  This  smart  young  j^ony  will 
most  likely  break  all  their  bones  through  his 
thoughtless  waj's. 

Heighol  I  am  so  dumpy  I  ].  declare,  though 
it's  bitterly  cold,  and  snowy  too,  I  feel  as  if  I 
had  no  spirit  to  reach  the  shed ! 

****** 

'Bow  wow,  Ned  I  Pretty  well  to-night?  I've 
just  run  round,  hard  as  it  was  to  leave  my  plate 
of  bones — some  not  half  cracked  yet;  and  with 
such  nice  bits  left  on  them — these  Londoners 
are  so  dainty ' 

'  I  would  rather  not  hear  about  them.  Grip, 
tho'  it  does  me  good  to  see  your  tail  wag.  I  feci 
very  low  spirited  to-night.' 

'I've  got  a  piece  of  news  to  cheer  you  up, 
then.  That  is  why  I  ran  in  such  haste.  The 
people  have  come,  you  know ;  and  one  of  them 
is  a  fat,  lame  lady.     Jolly,  isn't  it,  for  you?' 

'Jolly I  I  can't  see  much  to  be  jolly  about' 

'  Don't  be  so  peevish ;  I  am  going  to  explain 
what  I  mean.  She  has  been  asking  about  the 
horse  and  trap,  and  our  master  told  her  he  had 
nothing  good  enough  yet  for  her  to  drive,  but 
that  he  meant  to  buy  a  nice  ponyl  Well, 
instead  of  her  being  pleased,  she  told  him  as 
plain  as  could  be  that  she  would  have  no  skittisli 
ponies  to  drive  her  about  this  hilly  place,  and 
asked  if  there  was  no  sturdy  farm-horse  to  be 
had.  Yori  should  have  seen  master's  surprise  I 
Of  course  he  told  her  about  you,  and  so  tlie 
whole  lot  of  them  are  coming  round  after 
breakfast  to-morrow  with  sugar,  to  feed  you. 
Good-night,  I  must  get  back  again,  or  that 
prowhng  old  cat  will  be  makmg  off  with  my 
nicest  bits.' 

'  Thank  you.  Grip,  for  coming  up  to  tell  me. 
I  like  stout  people.  They  know  the  real  value 
of  an  old  servant!  Well,  master  will  perhaps 
grow  wiser  in  time  ;  he  only  bought  the  farm  a 
year  ago,  and,  after  all,  he  treats  me  very  kindly : 
but  this  idea  of  being  ousted  by  a  shoot  of  a 
pony  was  almost  more  than  I  could  bear.  Now 
that's  at  an  end.'  C.  A.  0. 


272 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


Dejected  Ned. 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Youac. 


"  Merrily  switcliing  his  rod,  was  his  son." 


274 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


A   LITTLE    HERO. 

BOUT  two  years  ago  the 
large  and  flourishing  Swiss 
village  of  Vallorbes  was 
burnt  to  the  ground.  The 
houses  (or  chalets,  as  they 
are  called)  are  biiilt  mostly  of 
wood,  and  if  one  takes  fire 
it  is  veiy  difficult  to  prevent 
it  spreading,  for  even  the  tiles  of 
the  houses  are  of  wood,  and  the  sparks 
falling  on  them  they  soon  ignite,  and 
a  general  destruction  ensues. 
At  Vallorbes,  on  the  morning  after  the  fire, 
the  scene  was  truly  heartrending.  The  once 
smiling  village  was  now  but  a  blackened  mass 
of  still  smoking  embers ;  and,  to  put  the  matter 
shortly,  everybody  seemed  to  have  lost  every- 
thing in  this  disastrous  fire.  The  surgeon  had 
lost  his  books  and  instruments,  the  shopkeepers 
had  lost  their  goods,  the  blacksmith's  forge  was 
burnt  do-mi,  and  the  carpenter's  shop  was 
nothing  but  the  blackest  of  the  ruins ;  whilst  the 
loss  of  the  farmers,  in  cows  and  horses  and 
agricultural  implements,  was,  perhaps,  the  gTeatest 
of  all. 

There  was  one  farmer,  however,  who  had  lost 
still  more  than  his  fellows — they  had  none  of 
them  much  left  of  their  worldly  goods ;  aU  their 
possessions  had  been  burnt;  but  in  this  our 
farmer  was  no  worse  off  than  the  rest ;  this  he 
would  have  borne  with  the  manly  patience  and 
fortitude  which  characterised  the  peasants  iu 
that  trying  time.  It  was  not  the  loss  of  cows 
or  horses,  plough  or  vats,  that  brought  the  look 
of  hopeless,  agonised  despair  to  the  poor  man's 
■  face ;  it  was  something  he  cared  for  more  than 
these  :  his  son,  his  only  son,  a  little  boy  of 
seven  years  old,  was  missing;  and  missing 
that  night  meant  that  he  had  been  burnt,  or 
crushed  to  death  by  the  falling  timbers. 

No  trace  of  the  body  could  be  found ;  but 
that  little  frame  might  easily  lie  hidden  under 
the  heaped-up  mass  of  blackened  timber  and 
rubbish,  which  was  all  that  remained  of  a  large 
chalet  and  stable.  The  poor  father  could  not 
lea-ve  the  spot ;  it  was  his  son's  grave ;  it  was 
eacred  ground  to  him;  and  though  sympathising 
neighbours  would  fain  have  taken  him  witli 
them  to  tlie  villages  near,  where  relief  and  shelter 


were  freely  offered  to  the  poor  outcasts,  he 
refused  to  leave :  there  he  would  stay,  he 
declared. 

He  felt  too  miserable  even  to  pray.  '  What 
should  he  pray  for '? '  he  asked  himself,  hali'  re- 
sentfully ;  his  son  was  everything  to  him,  and  if 
he  were  gone,  he  cared  for  nothing  else.  Hark ! 
a  sound  of  lowing  reaches  his  ears.  He  looks 
up.  Is  it  ?  Can  it  be  ?  Is  not  that  Fleurette, 
his  owni  prize  cow,  leading  the  herd?  Yes,  they 
were  his  own  cows,  and  he  laiew  them  every 
one.  And  behind — oh  I  the  good  and  gracious 
God  I — behind  the  herd,  merrily  switching  his  ' 
rod,  was  his  son,  his  own  little  son,  given  back 
to  him  from  the  gates  of  death  I 

The  poor  fathei-'s  feelmgs  rendered  him  speech- 
less, but  the  little  fellow,  knowing  nothing  of  his 
agitation,  came  up  to  him,  and  said  gaily, 
'  Good  morning,  father ;  see,  all  our  cows  are 
safe.  When  I  woke  up  and  saw  the  fire 
burning  all  aromid  us,  I  made  haste  and  led  the 
cows  to  the  mountain  out  of  the  way.  I  saw 
you  as  I  passed  the  foimtain,  and  waved  my 
hat.  You  were  just  helping  lame  Mother 
Genton  down  the  steps  of  her  chalet,  so  I  don't 
know  if  you  saw  me.' 

No,  the  poor  father  had  in  that  time  of 
terrible  excitement  seen  nothing  but  the  work  of 
the  moment ;  but  now  he  saw  before  him  his 
son  and  his  possessions  restored  to  him  when  he 
had  given  them  up  for  lost.  How  good  God 
had  been  to  him  I  He  would  never  forget  His 
goodness.  His  little  boy,  too ;  what  presence  of 
mind  he  had  shown  I  he  might  well  be  proud 
of  him. 

'  You  have  saved  both  life  and  property, 
Henri,'  said  the  father, '  by  your  presence  of  mind. 
You  are  a  little  hero.' 

'A  hero  I  Oh  no,  father  I '  laughed  the  boy; 
'  heroes  are  great  men  who  do  wonderful  things. 
I  only  led  the  cows  away  because  they  were  in 
danger,  and  I  knew  it  was  the  right  thing  to  do.' 

'Henri,'  said  his  father,  impressively,  'he 
who  does  the  right  thing  iu  times  of  danger  is  a 
hero.'  E.  A.  B. 


STRAWS. 

AS  straws  thrown  up  in  the  air  show  the 
way  of  the  wind,  so  the  little  things  of 
every  day  show  the  direction  of  our  life. 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


275 


RAGAMUPPITT    TOM. 

{Contimied  from  lyage  270.) 
CHAPTER    IX. ADVENTURES. 


pHE  day  after  that  on  wliich 
Mr.  Knox  so  unexpectedly  ar- 
rived, all  the  family  assembled 
in  the  invalid's  room  as  soon 
as  tea  was  over,  in  order  to 
listen  to  his  account  of  the 
dangers  through  which  he  had 
passed.  It  had  been  suggested 
that  the  recital  should  be 
put  off  until  Mrs.  Knox  was 
stronger,  but  she  was  so  anxious  to  hear  all 
about  her  husband's  adventures  and  escape  that 
it  was  thought  advisable  to  gratify  her. 

She  was  seated  in  an  arm-chair,  and  propped 
tip  comfortably  with  pillows ;  round  her  a  soft 
white  shawl.  She  spoke  quite  gently  this  even- 
ing, and  looked  so  unlike  her  old  self  that  little 
PoUy  scarcely  knew  her. 

Mr.  Knox  related  how  he  and  his  party  had 
been  taken  prisoners  by  an  unfriendly  tribe,  and 
inarched  up  the  countr}',  many  of  their  pos- 
sessions fortunately  being  taken  with  them. 

'  The  march  iip  country,'  said  Mr.  Knox, 
'  was  full  of  difficulties,  for  it  was  no  easy  matter 
to  keep  pace  with  our  captors,  to  whom  the 
rough  road  and  tangled  brushwood  through 
Avhich  we  had  to  jiush  were  as  familiar  as  a 
walk  in  our  woods  or  a  ride  across  country  arc 
to  us.  Boots  and  shoes  soon  gave  out,  and 
clothes,  however  strong,  could  not  loifg  resist 
the  large  thorns  m  which  they  Avere  constantly 
catching. 

'  Heavy  chains  were  fastened  on  our  wrists, 
which  ached  with  the  weight.  But  even  among 
savages  one  meets  with  compassionate  hearts 
now  and  then,  and  occasionally  one  such  would 
pluck  cooling  leaves  and  place  them  on  our 
bruised  wrists,  which  often  seemed  as  though 
they  must  break  from  the  dragging  of  the  heavy 
chains. 

'When  we  reached  our  joiu'ney's  end,  a  native 
village,  the  chains  were  taken  off  and  we  were 
allowed  a  fair  amount  of  liberty — for  escape 
seemed  impossible.  We  did  not,  however,  give 
up  hope,  and  collected  whatever  might  be  of 
service  should  we  manage  to  regain  our  liberty. 
Among  our  belongings  were  a  number  of  fire- 


Avorks — rockets  and  the  like — of  which  you  ^^■i^ 
hear  more  by-and-by. 

'  As  you  may  suppose,  you  were  all  constantly 
in  my  thoughts ;  and  as  time  went  on  I  felt 
how  anxious  you  must  be  getting  at  not  re- 
ceiving any  letters.  Escajie  seemed  further  off 
than  ever. 

'  We  were  really  weW  fed  and  well  treated, 
and,  under  the  circumstances,  considered  our- 
selves fairly  well  off  for  prisoners,  until  one  day 
the  di'eadful  idea  occurred  that  we  were  among 
cannibals  I 

'  This  idea  once  entertained,  everything  con- 
firmed it.  Before  this  thought  struck  us  we  had 
merely  imagined  that  a  ransom  was  the  object 
of  our  captors,  but  the  more  we  considered  the 
subject  the  more  certain  we  were  that  neither 
money  nor  its  equivalent  was  their  wish. 

'  We  were,  of  course,  anxious  not  to  allow  any 
of  the  natives  to  suspect  our  discovery  of  their 
intentions ;  so  we  ate  away  to  keep  up  appear- 
ances, and  also  our  strength,  feeling  now  and 
then  a  sly  pleasure  that,  after  all,  our  hosts 
might  not  enjoy  the  feast  to  which  they  were 
probably  looking  forward  with  great  delight. 
I  assure  you  it  is  anything  hut  pleasant  to  feel 
yourself  in  the  position  of  a  goose  or  turkey 
before  Christmas,  and  occasionally  to  see  two 
sturdy  black  men  looking  at  you  with  the  eye  of 
a  French  cook,  and  perhaps  pointing  you  out  as 
a  particularly  fine  specimen.  For  the  future, 
I  shall  always  have  a  fellow-feeling  with  our 
Christmas  birds. 

'  At  length  we  concocted  a  plan  for  escaping, 
and  as  Longley  (whom  I  have  often  mentioned 
in  my  letters  as  a  clever  fellow)  spoke  the  lan- 
guage best,  we  elected  him  captain.  He  re- 
quested an  interview  with  the  negro  King,  which 
was  granted.  We  made  the  best  possible  toilet 
circumstances  allowed,  and  presented  ourselves 
before  His  Majesty,  who  was  seated  in  state  on 
an  empty  barrel  which  had  once  belonged  to  lis. 
He  ■^^•as  in  full  dress,  and  everything  he  wore 
had  also  once  been  ours. 

We  were  all  very  grave,  and  bowed  respect- 
fidly  to  the  dusky  monarch  in  whose  hands, 
under    Providence,   rested    our  fate.      I   need 


276 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


hardly  tell  you  that  the  negroes  Imew  nothing  (jf 
God.  They  worshipped  idols,  and  considered 
thunder  and  lightning  were  messages  from  them. 
On  this  idea  of  theirs  we  intended  to  work,  by 
means  of  our  fireworks,  in  order  to  effect  our 
escape. 

'  Longley  told  the  King  that  we  had  heen 
conversing  with  their  idols,  and  particularly  with 
those  who  were  most  watchful  of  his  tribe,  that 
it  was  their  will  and  pleasure  for  us  to  he  set 
free,  and  safely  escorted  to  the  coast. 

'  The  King  and  his  people  showed  evident 
signs  of  unbelief.  Our  leader,  however,  told 
them  that  he  had  good  authority  for  what  he 
said,  and  that  in  proof  of  it  coloured  fire  would 
suddenly  appear  to  convince  the  tribe. 

'  Hardly  had  he  finished  speaking  when  red 
and  blue  lights  appeared,  and  rockets  filled  the 
air.    The  stick  from  one  of  the  latter  fell  close 
to   the   head   of  a  negro  standing  near  the 
Kong.    Fear  and  consterna- 
tion   were    depicted   on    the 
faces  of  the  savages,  and  the 
Iving  was  only  too  glad  to 
get  rid  of  his  prisoners, 
not  knowing  whether  he 
might    not  presently  be 
Idlled  by  a  ball  of  fire. 
He  made  arrangements  ^ 
for   sending   us  off  as 
fast  as  possible. 
We  gathered 
such  necessary 
things    as   we 
could    in    the 
hurry,  and  after 
many  days  and 
nights  of  hard  travelling  we 
Leone. 

'  Our  escort  were  so  anxious  to  get  rid  of  us 
and  to  return  home  that  they  seemed  almost  as 
cruel  as  they  had  been  when  carrying  us  away 
to  the  interior  as  prisoners.  Certainly  we  had 
no  chains  to  bear  us  down  with  their  weight, 
but  we  were  hardly  allowed  time  for  repose  or 
food,  the  negroes  themselves  being  able  to 
manage  with  a  wonderfully  small  amount  of 
either.  One  of  us  always  kept  awake  while  the 
others  snatched  a  few  moments  of  sleep,  for  we 
had  no  confidence  in  the  honour  of  our  escort. 

'  I  feared  that  an  account  of  our  troubles  might 


arrived  at  Sierra 


reach  you,  and  devoutly  hoped  to  be  able  to  sail 
in  the  same  steamer  that  conveyed  the  news,  but 
we  had  the  soitow  of  seeing  it  steaming  away. 
I  should  even  now  proljabl)'  have  been  still 
on  the  way,  had  it  not  been  for  the  kindness  of  a 
gentleman  who  was  returning  to  England  after  a 
cruise  in  his  yacht,  and  who  offered  me  a  pas- 
sage. His  vessel  steamed  very  fast,  and  we 
arrived  just  about  the  same  time  as  the  mail,  so 
nearly  that  I  was  quite  sure  of  being  in  time  to 
save  you  a  shock ;  but  after  all  I  was  too  late.' 

'  I  wonder  whether 
we  shall  ever  solve  the 
mystery   as    to  who 
sent  the  paper  ? '  said 
V   '  "^B-.  '^m    ^^^'   Lucas.      '  It  is 

^^'-'^ffWi/ii      WsUi    most  strange.' 

Mrs.  Knox  said 
very  little.  She  was 
deeply  grateful  for 
the  restoration  of  her 
husband,  and  if  her 
old  thoughts  as  to  the 
wickedness  of  gad- 
ding and  jileasuring 
recurred  to  her,  she 
kept  them  to  her- 
self. 

Margaret  and  Kate 
were  never  wearied 
of  listening  to  their 
uncle's  accounts  of 
his  adventures,  and 
to  his  descriptions  of 
the  beautiful  forests 
through  which  he 
had  been.  They  liked 
to  hear  about  the  little  negro  children,  too,  what 
they  were  like,  and  how  their  parents  treated 
them. 

As  soon  as  she  was  well  enough  to  travel, 
Islvs.  Knox  was  anxious  to  retuni  home,  and  as 
3Ir.  Knox  also  considered  that  they  had  been 
away  quite  long  enough,  they  took  the  first 
fine,  bright  day  the  autumn  afforded,  and 
set  off  for  Walnut-tree  Farm,  leaving  an  in- 
vitation for  the  children  to  spend  some  months 
with  them  the  following  summer,  when  the 
hay-making  would  be  going  on,  and  every- 
thing looking  its  best. 

(To  he  continued.) 


i  l>  t*' 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


^11 


THE    TOWER    OP   REPENTANCE. 

NEAR  Hodden  Castle  is  a  small  square 
tower,  built  upon  a  Lill,  like  a  beacon, 
and  over  tbe  stone  doorway  there  is  a  quaint 
device  carved,  a  dove  and  a  serpent,  with  the 
word  '  Repentance  '  between  them  ;  from  which 
circumstance  it  has  long  been  called  the  '  Tower 
of  Repentance.' 

How  long  it  has  thus  stood  no  one  knows, 
but  there  is  a  tradition  that  a  Scottish  chief 
built  it,  to  betoken  his  repentance  of  certain 
cruel  deeds  long  before. 

A  traveller  many  years  ago,  passing  that  way, 
saw  a  shepherd  lad  spelling  his  Bible,  as  he 
tended   his  sheep,  and  asked  rather  sneeringly, 


what  he  supposed  he  could  learn  from  that 
book. 

The  boy  replied  at  once,  '  The  way  to  heaven, 
sir  : ' 

'  And  can  you  show  it  me  ? '  returned  the 
stranger. 

'  Aye,  that  can  I,'  was  the  sturdy  answer. 
'  You  must  go  by  that  tower,' — pointing  to  the 
■  Tower  of  Repentance.' 


HUMAN    GREATNESS. 

A  LITTLE  rale,  a  little  sway, 
A  sxmbeam  in  a  winter's  day. 
Is  all  the  proud  and  mighty  have 
Between  the  cradle  and  the  a'rave. 


MIXED     PICKLES. 

(Continued  from  fage  267.) 
CHAPTER  XVIII. '  FRIEND,  GO  UP  HIGHER  I ' 

THERE  came  at  last,  next  day,  a  governess 
for  Bryda  ;  and  she,  remembering  Miss 
QuiUnib,  the  only  teacher  she  had  ever  had, 
except  mother,  expected  an  elderly  lady  with 
prim  dress  and  iron-gray  curls.  But  it  is  hard 
to  say  if  she  was  most  surprised  or  pleased  to 
see  a  bright-faced  young  girl,  who  could  not  be 
more  than  one  or  two-and-twenty,  who  was 
nicely  dressed,  and  looked  as  if  she  could  enjoy 
amusing  things  quite  as  well  as  Miss  Bryda 
herself. 

Bryda  put  her  through  a  short  catechism  when 


irj:i  »\W/|'//'i~''l%¥' 


her  shyness  had  worn  off  a  little,  which  was  by 
the  time  that  she  and  the  governess  had  settled 
down  to  tea  in  the  cosy  schoolroom. 

'Miss  Mervyn,  do  you  like  jam?'  she  asked,  so 
very  gravely  that  the  young  lady  burst  into  an 
extremely  men-y  laugh. 

'  Very  much,'  she  said,  trying  to  be  as  grave 
as  her  pupil ;  '  especially  raspberry  I  We  used 
to  callthat  ''  real  jam,"  at  my  home.' 

'  Did  you  ? '  said  Bryda.  ■  But  do  you  like 
lessons  better  than  play  ? ' 

'  Certainly  not  I '  said  Miss  IMervyn.  '  Only 
the  play  would  get  very  stupid  if  it  went  on 


278 


SUiXDAY  ReADLXG  FOR  THE  YoUNG. 


every  day,  all  day  long.  So  I  like  some  lessons 
■too.  How  should  you  like  to  live  on  jam  without 
any  bread,  Bryda?' 

'  Not  at  all.' 

'Well,  I  think  the  working  part  of  the  day  is 
the  bread  to  make  the  l^lay  seem  nice.  How 
would  a  cake  be  that  was  only  currants  and 
sugar  ? ' 

Bryda  laughed,  and  tlieii  she  gre\v  solemn 
again.     '  But  I  don't  like  dates  I '  she  said. 

'  No  more  do  I,'  answered  Miss  Mervyn. 
'  That  is,  I  don't  like  too  many  at  once.  But  I 
suppose  you  never  remember  your  birthday. 
Bryda  V ' " 

'  Twenty-first  of  June ! '  said  the  pupil 
proni2itly.  'But  then  I  know  all  about  that,  and 
it's  a  very  nice  sort  of  day  ! " 

'  Well,  if  I  were  to  give  you  a  packet  of 
sweeties  every  year  on  the  day  of  the  Battle  of 
Waterloo,  would  it  be  easy  to  remember?' 

'  It  might,'  answered  Bryda. 

'  Then  let  us  tr}'  to  divide  the  day  between 
lessons  and  play,  so  that  we  may  have  the 
proper  quantities  of  bread  and  jam.  Shall  we, 
dear'?' 

'  Yes,  that  wiU  be'  nice  I  And,  oh  1  Miss 
Mervj'n,'  burst  out  Bryda,  '  will  you  sometimes 
coiue  and  see  okl  Roger  V '  She  had  thought  of 
little  else  all  day. 

'  Who  is  old  Roger?'  asked  Miss  Mervjni. 

Bryda  poured  out  all  the  story  of  Roger  and 
of  Eeppo,  and  of  her  first  adveutm'e  in  the 
Dawson's  cottage,  and  of  all  that  had  happened 
since. 

The  story  lasted  till  there  came  a  knock  at  the 
door,  and  Uncle  Jack  entered. 

Well,  Uncle  Jack  1  what  have  they  done  to 
Jim  Dawson?'  cried  Bryda. 

'  Jim  has  been  sent  to  prison,"  answered  Uncle 
Jack ;  '  when  his  time  of  pmiishment  is  over  we 
will  see  what  can  be  done  for  him.  And  Moll 
is  not  dead,  Bryda ;  that  is  what  I  came  up  to 
tell  yoU' — that  and  something  else.  Moll  will 
recover,  and  when  she  leaves  the  infirmary  Cousin 
Salome  has  a  little  plan  for  her,  which  mil  take 
her  away  among  kind  people  who  will  teach  her 
and  heljj  her  to  be  good.' 

'  What  was  the  something  else.  Uncle  Jack  ?' 

'  The  something  else  was,  that  old  Roger  would 
like  to  see  you  to-morrow  morning,  if  Miss 
Mervyn  will  be  good  enough  to  take  you  there. 


as  early  as  possible,'  he  said.  '  Roger  is  going  tc- 
his  palace,  Bryda,  and  he  may  start  to-morrow,  so- 
he  would  like  to  say  good-bye.' 

'  How  nice  for  Roger'.'  said  Bryda.  'Aren't 
you  glad  he  is  going.  Uncle  Jack?  you  spoke 
quite  sadly.  I  suppose  you  will  miss  old  Roger ; 
I  am  sure  I  shall.' 

'  Yes,  I  am  very  glad,'  said  Uncle  Jack,  in  a 
voice  that  shook  a  little.  Evidently  he  would 
miss  old  Roger  very  much  indeed. 

'  Poor  Liz  I'  said  Bryda,  as  she  went  to  bed,- 
'  I  am  so  sorry  she  cannot  go  too  I ' 

\Mien  Miss  Mervyn  and  Bryda  went  down 
to  Roger's  cottage  in  the  morning  it  seemed 
wonderfully  quiet.  There  was  no  sound  of  the- 
carpenter's  diligent  work — all  his  tools  were- 
nently  laid  aside.  The  cottage  looked  as  though 
it  \\-ere  Sunday.  Roger  was  going  home ;  he 
would  need  his  tools  no  more. 

Going  into  the  inner  room,  they  found  old 
Roger  in  bed  propped  up  with  pillows,  while 
Beppo,  crouched  at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  kept 
his  big  dark  eyes  fixed,  with  a  veiy  soiTOwfuL 
look,  on  the  old  man's  face. 

Then,  and  not  till  then,  did  Bryda  suddenlj^ 
understand  what  it  all  meant,  and,  -with  a  little 
cry  of  ■■  Oh,  Roger,  don't  die  ! '  she  sprang  to  the- 
bedside. 

'  G-ently,  dear,"  said  Jliss  jMervyn,  following 
her. 

'  Oh,  I  w^ill  be  still  I'  sobbed  Bryda  ;  '  but,  oh,. 
Roger,  I  never  thought  you  meant  dying,  when 
you  told  me  about  your  palace.  And  it  was- 
because  I  did  not  understand,  and  told  Moll 
Dawson  about  your  treasures,  that  all  this  has- 
happened  I     Oh,  it  is  my  faidt  I '  she  sobbed. 

'  No,  dear,'  said  Miss  Mervyn,  gently.  '  It  is- 
not  your  fault.  But  next  time  things  puzzle 
you,  Bryda,  ask  some  one  to  explain  them.' 

There  was  a  smile  as  beautiful  as  the  calm 
light  of  a  summer  sunset  on  the  old  man's  face.. 
How  glad  he  seemed  to  be  going  Home  I  With. 
something  of  an  effort  he  spoke. 

'  They  shall  see  the  King  in  His  beauty  .  .  ., 
the  land  that  is  very  far  off.  In  My  Father's 
house  .  .  .  many  mansions  .  .  .  a  place  for  you 
.  .  .  that  means  one  for  me  too.  Miss  Bryda  1' 

'  And  one  for  Liz,'  said  Bryda,  quicldy. 

'  Ah  I  Liz  will  be  able  to  show  me  round,  she's- 
been  there  for  so  long  .  .  .  she'll  teach  me  the 
■ways  o'  the  place,  and  the  new  song  they  sing 


Sunday  Reading  FOR  the  Young. 


27» 


there.     She  was  alwaj's  a  good  singer,  was  Liz, 
and  loved  it.' 

'  For  Beppo  one  place,  too,'  said  a  little  voice 
from  the  foot  of  the  hed. 

'  One  place  for  all  the  children  of  the  King,  if 
they  have  kept  their  garments  white,'  said  Miss 
Mei'vyn. 

i  (Ooncluded  in  our  next. ) 


'  ALONE. 

QUIETNESS  and  stillness  are  necessary  for 
all  growth  in  nature ;  the  leaves  would 
.soon  wither  if  they  were  always  blowing  about 
in  a  gale.  On  still  nights  the  refreshing  dew 
■  descends  most ;  so  solitude  and  quiet  thought 
are  good  for  the  soul.  The  Lord  Himself 
oftjen  chose  to  be  alone.  He  knew  how  good  it 
isi  and  said  to  His  followers,  '  Come  ye  your- 
alves  into  a  desert  place,  and  rest  awhile.' 


■DIME    LOST. 

WHERE'  are  thy  moments  ?     Dost  thou  let 
them,  run 
Unheeded  through  Time's  glass  ?     Is  thy  work 

done '? 
Hast  thou  no  duties  unfulfilled  ?     Not  one 

That  needs  completion  ? 
Thou  wouldst  not  cast  thy  nionci/  to  the  ground  ; 
Or,  if  thou  didst,  perchance  it  might  be  found 
By  one  who,  schooled  in  poverty's  harsh  round. 
Knew  not  repletion. 

But  thy  time  lost — is  lost  to  all  and  thee, 

Swiftly  'tis  added  to  Eternity, 

And  for  it  answerable  thou  must  be : 

So  have  a  care, 
(j'ather  thy  moments,  lest  they  swell  to  hours ; 
Stir  up  thy  youthful  and  still  domiant  powers  ; 
JVoio  only  (ianst  thou   plant  Heaven's   fadeless 

Therefore  beware. 


DOES    GOD    SEE? 


THE  Fairlight  children  were  out  for  a  walk 
with  nurse  ;  they  had  Evy  and  May,  their 
,pet  dolls,  and  everything  was  bright  and  glad 
in  the  sunshine  as  they  went  along  the  road 
that  runs  from  the  Palace  through  Sydenham. 
Everything  bright  and  glad '?  No  I  not  every- 
rthing.  Just  as  they  were  passing  one  of  the 
gardens  a  poor  boy,  a  sweeper,  hungry -looking 
.and  pinched  in  face,  was  watching  the  paBsers- 
by  for  a  stray  copper,  and  a  lady  who  had  gone 
past  was  turning  back  to  speak  to  him. 

The  twins  could  hear  what  she  said. 

'  Where  do  you  live,  my  boy !  Have  yom' 
jjarents  no  work,  that  they  let  you  do  this  ? ' 

Fanny  and  Emtaa  could  not  hear  the  boy's 
..answer,  but  they  saw  the  lady  take  something 
from  her  purse  and  give  to  him. 

They  were  very  silent  for  some  distance,  then 
'they  said :  '  Nurse,  do  you  think  God  sees  people 
■who  haven't  got  enough  to  eat  ?  ' 

'Dear  me  I  what  a  question  to  ask  I'  replied 
>nurse.  '  I'm  not  clever  enough  to  know,  dears, 
but  I  should  say  God  sees  everything.' 

'  Then  why  does  He  let  some  people  starve, 
like  that  poor  boy  we  saw?' 

'  I  don't  rightly  know,  dear  :  it's  a  mystery.' 

'  I  don't  like  mysteries,'  said  Fanny. 


'  I  shall  ask  mother,'  added  Emma.  And  so 
they  trotted  along  with  their  nurse  and  baby, 
wondering  how  it  could  be  that  God  should  Imow 
and  care  for  those  who  suffered  nrisery  and  want. 

When  evening  came,  and  nurse  was  busy 
putting  away  baby's  things  and  tidying  the 
nursery,  they  Inielt  at  mother's  knee,  and  said 
their  httle  prayers  together.  '  God  bless  all  who 
are  in  want  and  suffering  and  sickness,  and  re- 
lieve them  all.'  And  mother  took  great  pains  to 
explain  as  well  as  she  could  to  her  little  girls  the 
great  wonder  of  God's  love  permitting  sorrow 
and  poverty. 

It  was  a  difficult  problem  for  the  two  little 
minds,  but  they  caught  one  glimpse  of  duty  from 
it  aU. 

'  I  think  I  imderstand  more  about  it  now, 
Emmie,'  wliispered  the  one,  as  they  placed  their 
little  heads  \ipon  their  soft  pillows,  and  clasped 
their  hands  to  go  to  sleep.  '  Instead  of  spending 
that  sixpence  we  have  in  goodies,  we'll  go  and 
give  it  to  that  poor  boy  to-morrow ;  perhaps  he 
has  a  little  sister  like  us,  and  won't  he  be  glad 
to  take  her  a  present  I  It  will  be  like  answering 
our  own  prayers,  won't  it  ? '  And  in  ten  minutes 
they  were  asleep. 

Did  God  see  and  bless  His  children  'i 


280 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


"  The  twins  could  hear  what  she  said. 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


281 


Paul  nearly  thrown  off  the  Plank. 


-.282  ■ 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


SAINT    JOHN'S   DAT. 

''OTHER,  this  is  St.  John's 
Day.  Teacher  has  given  the 
whole  school  a  holiday  he- 
cause  of  the  festival :  may  we 
take  our  dinner  into  the 
fields,  and  play  there?' 

'  Yes,  C^cile,  and  you  will 
all  be  nicely  out  of  the  way 
while  I  get  my  washing  done. 
Eeach  down  my  basket,  and 
we  will  fill  it.  We  must  put 
'plenty  of  food  in — for  I  suppose  neighbour 
Perraud's  boy  will  go  with  you  too?' 

'  Oh  yes,  mother ;  but  he  has  got  his  satchel 
already  packed  tight  with  chocolate  and  rolls.' 
'Well,  then,  I  need  only  pirovide  for  you  and 
Paul.  Fill  this  bottle  with  milk,  and  I  will 
put  in  some  slices  of  sausage  for  you  to  lay  on 
the  bread ;  we  will  cut  \ip  the  loaf  now,  so  that 
you  need  take  no  knives  with  you.' 

'  Thank  you,  mother ;  put  plenty  of  bread  in, 
■for  we  mean  to  stay  out  as  late  as  possible,  as  it 
is  the  longest  day.' 

'  Whatever  shall  you  do  all  the  time,  children  ? ' 

'  Oh,   we  have  lots   of  plans,  mother ;   never 

fear,  we  shall  not  be  dull.     We  can  always  play 

at  school  when  everything  else  is  finished,  we 

never  tire  of  that  game.' 

A  grand  round  of  amusements  that  field 
furnished,  beginning  with  see-saw — in  which 
Paul  nearly  got  thrown  off  the  plank.  More 
Jittle  friends  were  spied  out,  bent  on  the  same 
picnic  dinner ;  so  they  made  a  merry  feast,  and 
-afterwards  played  at  houses. 

Paul  and  little  Perraud  kept  a  greengrocer's 
shop  on  one  side  of  the  great  log,  and  sold  salads 
and  vegetables  of  all  descriptions  to  the  young- 
ladies  who  came,  very  solemnly,  to  buy  of  them. 
Cecile  bargained  so  hard  over  a  packet  of 
-dandehon  leaves  that  Paul  got  quite  angry, 
and  told  her  she  haggled  like  a  beggar  woman. 
Then  the  boys  had  to  come  and  buy  at  the 
shop  that  their  sisters  had  set  up.  A  general 
dealer's  this  was.  All  manner  of  useful  things 
were  sold.  '  Packets  of  firewood,  brown  sugar, 
walking-sticks,  rush  baskets,  all  could  be  pro- 
cured at  low  prices,  and  of  the  very  best 
description;'  so'  annoimced  C6cile. 

A  busy  trade  was  done,  and  the  stock  quickly 


cleared  out,   though  little   Perraud   discovered 
the  brown  sugar  to  be  only  sand! 

A  game  of  follow-my-leader  finished  up  the 
fun,  in  the  course  of  which  Paul  jjicked  \i]  i,  on 
the  path  leading  through  the  field,  a  little  paper 
packet  with  three  francs  wraj^ped  u]3  in  it. 

'  Better  run  home  with  it  at  once,'  agreed  all 
the  party. 

Off  they  set,  feeling  very  nnportaut,  bearing 
this  great  sum. 

Not  far  from  the  spot  where  it  had  been 
found  they  met  a  woman,  poking  anxiously  in 
the  gi'ass  with  a  stick. 

'Little  ones,  I  have  had  the  great  misfortune 
to  lose ' 

'Three  francs  is  it?  Here  they  are,'  said 
Paul,   thrusting  the   packet   at  her. 

'  Ah,  child !  What  a  relief  I  I  was  just  think- 
ing I  must  return  home  without  the  medicine  for 
my  sick  boy  which  I  came  to  buy  in  the  town. 
Tlianks,  my  children;  your  sharp  little  eyes- 
have  saved  me  much  searching  and  sorrow.  I 
shall  tell  my  poor  Auguste  of  your  kindness.' 

This  was  a  happy  ending  to  the  very  pleasant 
midsummer  day.  Not  only  had  they  amused 
themselves  delightfully,  they  had  also  brought 
joy  to  the  poor  woman.  They  scampered  off 
faster  than  ever  now,  with  tico  pieces  of  news 
to  tell  at  home  instead  of  one,  and  went  to  bed 
I'eeling  very  happy  that  they  had  been  able  to 
help  the  poor  woman  out  of  her  trouble. 

C.  A.  C. 

SAGAMUFPIW    TOM. 

{Continued  fiv7}i  p.  276.) 
CHAPTER  X. TOM  IN  TROUBLE. 

TOM  thought  veiy  little  about  his  mischievous 
act  of  sending  the  newspaper  to  Mrs.  Knox ; 
he  wondered  once  or  twice  how  it  had  been  re- 
ceived, and  then  forgot  all  about  it,  little  thinking 
how  his  intended  unkindness  had  been  turned  to 
good  through  the  \\-isdom  of  the  Almighty. 

One  day,  the  following  summer,  Tom  was 
again  looking  out  for  straj'  halfpence,  this  time 
in  Bond  Street,  and,  as  it  happened,  so  were  two 
of  the  other  boys  who  attended  the  night-school. 

'  Hallo  I  there's  old  Sniggles,  Bob  I '  said  Jim, 
the  younger  of  the  two  ;  '  let's  give  liim  a  tip  up.' 

'  Well,  gentleman  Tom  I  done  yer  sum,  liaTB 
you  ? '  asked  Bob,  as  they  approached  him. 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


283: 


Tom  took  no  notice,  wliicli  greatly  aggravated 
tlie  other  boys,  and  Jim  seized  hold  of  liis 
liasket. 

'  Yon  let  that  be ! '  said  Tom,  striking  out  in 
defence  of  his  property. 

As  he  did  so,  all  three  of  the  boys  tumbled  up 
against  a  tall,  stout  gentleman,  who,  stick  in 
hand,  was  slowly  walking  np  Bond  Street.  He 
put  ont  his  stick  to  keep  off  the  street  arabs,  and 
at  the  same  moment  Bob  took  possession  of  his 
pocket-handkerchief,  which  was  partly  hanging 
out  of  his  coat-tail  pocket.  The  gentleman 
\  went  on  his  way,  and  the  boys  continued  their 
quarrel.  Tom  was  decidedly  getting  the  worst 
of  it,  when  Bob  happened  to  look  up  and  saAV 
the  gentleman  retm'ning  at  a  quick  pace,  accom- 
panied by  a  policeman. 

Bob  was  off  in  a  second,  running  down  a  side- 
street ;  and  thus  relieved  of  one  of  his  assailants 
Tom  was  victorious,  and  when  gentleman  and 
policeman  appeared  he  was  engaged  in  giving 
Jim  a  sound  thrashing. 

'  I  give  him  in  charge  !  I  give  him  in  charge  I 
That's  the  young  rascal  I  One  can  see  the  sort 
of  character  he  is  by  the  way  he  was  beating 
the  little  fellow  I'  said  the  gentleman,  in  an 
excited  voice,  ,to  the  policeman. 

The  '  little  follow '  in  the  meantime  had  dis- 
apjieared,  and  joined  Bob,  who  was  watcliing  for 
him  at  a  safe  distance ;  they  both  quietl}'  crept 
to  the  outside  of  the  crowd  which  had  collected, 
and  watched  to  see  what  became  of  Tom,  who, 
heated  and  angry,  and  covered  with  dust,  did 
not  look  a  very  respectable  object. 

'  Give  np  my  handkerchief,  you  ragamnfifin  1' 
said  the  gentleman,  exasperated  by  the  delay, 
and  annoyed  at  being  the  centre  of  a  crowd. 

■  I've  got  no  handkerchief,  sir ! ' 

'  If  you  haven't  got  it  you  know  where  it  is. 
I  saw  you  just  now  taking  his  basket  away  from 
the  little  fellow ;  a  bigger  boy  was  trying  to 
defend  him ;  but  it  seems  it  was  of  no  use,  for 
you  have  it,  after  all.  Lnck  often  goes-with  the 
wicked  for  a  time  I '  continued  he,  unconsciously 
helping  to  carry  ont  his  own  idea.  '  Yorr  are  a 
bad  boy,  indeed  ! ' 

'  It  is  my  basl;et,  sir  I' 

'Nonsense I'  replied  the  gentleman.  'No 
lies  I  I  saw  you  with  my  own  eyes  taking  it 
away  from  the  other  boy.' 

Tom  was  aghast  1     He  found  that  his  word 


was  utterly  disbelieved.  He  leaked  round  the 
crowd  to  find  a  friendly  face,  but  no  one  took 
his  part.  No  one  knew  him,  and  for  the  first" 
time  in  his  young  life  he  was  walked  off  to- 
prison,  crying  bitterly  at  the  disgrace,  and  at 
the  utter  impossibility  of  making  any  one  listen- 
to  what  he  had  to  say  for  himself. 

As  he  went  along  he  heard  a  pretty  little  girl^ 
remark  to  her  mother,  with  whom  she  was 
walking,  '  Oh,  poor  boy  I  how  unhappy  he  is ! 
how  he  is  crj-iug  I ' 

Tom  felt  so  grateful  for  the  words  and  looks^ 
of  ■  sj-mpath}'  that  he  almost  smiled  amid  his 
tears.  Fortunately  he  did  not  hear  the  lady's- 
reply. 

'  Yes,  he  is  crying  sadly ;  but  I  fear  ho  is  a. 
naughty,  wicked  boy,  who,  no  doubt,  has  been 
stealing.' 

The 'lady  and  the  child  had  passed  on,  but 
the  latter  turned  once  more  to  look  at  Tom  with 
a  pitying  smile.  It  was  like  a  bright  ray  of 
sunshine,  and  cheered  him  much. 

Poor  Tom  was  locked  up,  and  passed  the- 
night  in  intense  misery.  How  could  he  ever- 
hold  up  his  head  again?  "\Yhat  would  Mrs. 
Middleborough  tliink  of  him  ?  She  w-ould  won- 
der where  he  was,  and  perhaps  come  and  find 
him  in  that  dreadful  place  I  Such  'thoughts 
crowded  through  his  mind,  and  he  feU  ill,  cold,, 
and  thoroughly  miserable. 

The  prison  was  worse  than  he  had  expected' 
to  find  it,  for  he  had  not  thought  cif  there  being 
others  also  locked  up  \^ith  him,  and  he  was- 
disgusted  with  their  tcilk  and  dirty  condition. 

He  sat,  sad  and  silent,  apart  from  the  rest, 
thinking  of  his  troubles,  and  that  about  this 
time  he  would  be  missed  at  the  night-school. 
Would  Bob  and  3m\  say  that  ho  -VAas  in  thc- 
lock-up?  Ho  could  not  answer  this  questiou,. 
and  Ids  thoughts  wandered  off  to  the  evening 
before,  when  Mr.  Ross  had  been  talking  to  them 
about  duty  and  obedience  to  orders,  ho^\•ever  diffi- 
cult it  might  be  at  tho  moment. 

*An  anecdote  he  had  related  about  the  I?us 
sian  general  Scobeleff  came   into  Tom's  mind 
How,  during  one  of  the  late  Kussiau  wars,  he,, 
the  general,  had  requested  a  sentry   to  let  him 
examine  his  rifle;  the  manfinnlybut  respectfully 
refused  ;  again  Scobeleff  asked  for  the  rifle,  and^ 

*  Fortnightly  lieview,  October  1882. 


284 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


again  lie  was  answered  as  before.  Instead  of  "being 
angry  with  the  soldier,  he  playfully  pulled 
his  ears,  as  was  his  habit  when  pleased,  and 
walked  away.  Scobeleff  had  been  testing  the  man 
to  see  whether  he  would  obey  orders,  even  on  the 
■chance  of  vexing  so  gi-eat  a  person  as  himself. 

The  man  knew  his  duty,  which  was  not  to 
give  up  his  gun  to  anybody ;  he  stood  to  it 
firmly  ;  had  he  not  done  so  he  would  have  been 
shot  for  disobedience  to  orders  in  time  of  war. 

Tom  was  deeply  thinking,  wondermg  whether 


girl  that  very  morning,  when  he  was  in  sucli 
despair  ;  above  all,  he  thought  of  how  God  loves 
those  who  Avithstand  temptation,  and  he  remained 
firm. 

The  next  day  about  noon,  to  his  surprise  and 
joy,  he  was  discharged,  the  gentleman  having 
sent  word  that  he  had  '  after  all,  picked  up  his 
handkerchief  from  the  pavement,  where  he  must 
have  dropped  it  unnoticed.  He  was  very  sorry  he 
had  misjudged  the  boy,  but  no  doubt  a  night  in 
the  lock-up  bad  done  him  no  harm,  probably 


lie  should  have  had  the  moral  courage  to  refuse 
his  genera],  when  he  was  accosted  by  some  of 
the  other  prisoners,  who  asked  bim  why  he  was 
there. 

On  hearing  his  story  they  said  that  he  was 
done  for,  and  need  no  longer  tlunk  of  getting  on 
as  he  had  been  doing.  He  would  be  sure  to  be 
convicted  and  punished,  and  had  better  at  once 
decide  to  join  them  when  his  term  of  punishment 
should  be  over.     But  Tom  was  firm. 

He  thought  of  the  sentry,  and  also  of  the  look 
of  pity  and  sympathy  he  had  had  from  the  little 


good,  as  a  warning  against  future  misconduct, 
such  as  fighting  in  the  streets,  and  it  would  also 
show  him  what  his  fate  would  be  if  he  did  not 
go  on  honestly.'     So  said  the  gentleman. 

The  fact  was,  wlien  Bob  and  Jim  saw  that 
Tom  was  actually  given  in  charge  to  the  police- 
man, they  made  up  their  minds  to  restore  the 
pocket-handkerchief,  lest  by  some  means  they 
might  be  drawn  into  the  punishment  which  they 
so  richly  deserved  ;  and  they  drojjped  it  on  the 
pavement,  with  what  success  we  have  seen. 
(To  he  continued.) 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


285 


HAPPY 

SUNDAY 

AFTERNOONS. 
No.  VI. 


WHAT  DOES 
THE  BIBLE 

SAY  ABOUT 
THE  ANGELS.? 


An  easy  Exercise  for  little  learners  to  write  or  saij  from  memory. 


ANGELS. 


WHITE-WING'D  messengers  from  heaven 
Fly  ever  to  and  fro  ; 
With  folded  wings  they  silent  keep 
Their  tender  watch  while  mortals  sleep, 
And  gently  hend  o'er  those  who  weep, 
"With  love  to  soothe  their  woe. 


God  His  angels  sends  on  earth, 

Invisible  yet  here; 
And  roimd  about  His  throne  they  stand, 
A  gleaming,  bright,  and  glorious  band 
Obedient  to  their  lord's  command. 

Serving  with  perfect  fear. 


■285 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


Let  no  angel  tnm  aside 

To  hide  his  face  away 
From  sin  of  ours;  but,  witli  trnc  lovo. 
Let  us,  His  loyal  servants,  prove 
Now  while  on  earth,  and  then  above, 

We  serve  Him  day  by  day. 


KWOWLEDGE  AND    REST. 

I  DO  not  want  to  know,'  said  a  t;ood  man  just 
before  his  death.     '  I  am  tired  of  knowing, 
I  want  to  rest.' 


TEMPTED    OF    THE    DEVIE. 

THERE  are  two  proverbs,  the  one  Turlcisli;. 
the  other  Spanish,  both  true.  The  first  is,. 
'  A  busy  man  is  troubled  with  but  one  devil ;. 
but  the  idle  man  with  a  thousand.'  The  last,. 
'  Men  are  usually  tempted  by  the  devil ;  but  the- 
idle  man  himself  tempts  the  devil.'  And  the- 
only  safeguard  for  young  and  old  is, '  Kesist  the- 
devil  and  he  will  flee  from  you.' 


DEEDS  AND  WORDS. 

Deeds  are  fruits  ;  Words  are  only  leaves. 


MIXED    PICKLES. 

{Co7tcluded  from  p.  279.) 


?EP,'  went  on  Eoger,  faintly, 
'where  the  Lord  God  givoth 
light  .  .  .  Wipetli  away  all 
tears  .  .  .  One  thing  more  .  .  . 
what  is  it  ?'  His  memory 
seemed  to  fail,  then  again 
returned. 

'Yes,  that's  it  .  .  .  Not  all 
"-*^  rest  and  singing  .  .  .  His  ser- 

vants shall  serve  Him  .  .  .  woi'k  for  old  Roger 
.  .  .  work  for  Beppo  ...  for  all,  work  and  rest. 
But    there's   something  more    .    .    .   something 

good ' 

His  voice  failed  completely. 
'  Yes,  there  is,'  said  Miss  IMervyn  :  '  the  best 
thing  of  all !     "  They  shall  see  His  Face  I"  ' 

A  smile  of  exquisite  delight  came  over  the 
old  man's  face.  He  spoke  no  more,  but  lay 
back  on  his  pillows,  gazing  before  him  and 
folding  his  hands,  as  if  already  ho  had  some 
foretaste  of  that  wonderful  promise,  given  long 
ago  to  the  pure  in  heart,  '  They  shall  see 
God  : ' 

And  then,  from  utter  weaknes.-^,  lie  fell  into  a 
gentle  sleep,  like  that  of  a  child,  with  that  same 
Bmile  on  his  face. 

Thus  Miss  MervjTi,  and  even  Bryda  and  little 
Beppo,  as  they  looked,  could  linderstand  how  true 
are  tlie  words  of  the  Apostle,  '  Every  man  that 
hath  this  hope  in  him  purifieth  himself,  even 
as  He  is  pure.' 

They  would  try  to  be  of  the  number  of  those 


fur  whom  the  many  mansions  are  prepared;  o£' 
those,  like  Roger, 

'  The  guileless  in  their  vray, 

Who  keep  the  ranks  of  battle. 
Who  mean  the  thing  they  say.' 

They  stood  watching  old  Roger's  aleep  fur  a> 
little  while,  anil  then  Miss  IMervyn  gently  drew 
Bryda  away;  and  Beppo  and  Mrs.  Mears.  tlu - 
kind  parish  nurse  and  Bible-woman,  were  left  to. 
watch  the  sleeper. 

Before  that  day  was  ended,  old  Roger  had  set- 
out  on  his  journey, — had  gone  to  join  Liz  in  the- 
Palace  of  the  King,  his  Father. 

The  shock  of  Jim  Dawson's  attempted' 
robbery,  and  a  chill,  caught  at  the  same  time,, 
were  more  than  Roger's  enfeebled  frame  could, 
stand. 

Cousin  Salome  wrote  a  little  poem  about  him:; 
but  she  said,  and  all  agreed  with  her,  tliat  the 
old  man's  life  and  death  were  a  better  poem, 
written  in  God's  boolc  of  history,  where  perhaps 
the  names  that  we  think  great  and  famous  are  ■ 
not  the  most  conspicuous. 

His  body  was  laid  beside  that  of  JAz,  and 
Bryda  gathered  the  freshest  flowers  and  made- 
two  wreaths  every  Stinday  morning. 

And  Bryda  works  steadily  at  her  lessons 
with  Miss  Mervyn,  because  it  is  the  King's 
good  pleasure,  the  loving  Father's  wish,  that  all 
duties  should  be  carefully  and  well  done,  and 
because  she  sees  more  and  more  that  evers'tliing 


.Sunday Reading  for  the  Yollxg. 


287 


-slae  learns  will  be  'of  some  use,'  as  slie  saj-s, 
^  perhaps  even  dates  ! ' 

But  lesson  hours  do  not  last  all  day,  and  she 
-enjoys  play-time  all  the  better  when  the  work  is 
well  done.  Miss  ilervyu  is  youug  and  likes 
play-time  too,  and  she  is  wonderfully  clever  at 
finding  aU  sorts  of  amusing  things  to  do  that 
don't  lead  to  mischief,  so  that  Bryda  can  no 
longer  be  said  to  'live  in  a  jar  of  Mixed 
Pickles." 

And  Beppo  '?  A  well-to-do  farmer's  wife,  who 
had  no  cliild,  offered  to  adopt  him,  and  make  him 
quite  like  her  own  child.  Cousin  Salome  was  not 
•  sure  if  the  plan  would  work  well,  so  she  proposed 
that  the  boy  should  go  for  a  month  at  first. 
And  he  went ;  and  as  he  has  now  been  there 
juany  months,  and  seems  to  grow  fatter,  and 
taller,  and  stronger,  and  happier  every  month, 
there  seems  no  fear  that  the  plan  will  not  answer. 

He  and  Bryda  meet  sometimes ;  he  comes  to 
spend  the  day,  for  the  grannies  say  that  he  is  '  a 
perfect  little  gentleman,  and  can  do  Brj'da  no 
hann.' 

Bryda  and  Miss  !Mervyn  have  plenty  of 
friends  who  are  not  gentlemen  though,  nor  ladies 
-either,  except  that  they  are  all  'children  of  the 
King.'  These  two  make  all  sorts  of  warm 
garments  and  tempting  puddings  in  their  spare 
time,  and  take  them  to  these  friends  of  theirs. 
And  some  day,  if  they  persevere,  they  may  hope 
•to  hear  it  said  to  them,  '  Inasmuch  as  ye  did  it 
unto  one  of  the  least  of  these  my  brethren,  ye  did 
it  unto  me.' 

So  Bryda's  jjuzzling  question  is  answered,  and 
she  knows  'what  use'  she  is,  and  what  she  can 
do  for  the  Lord  Jesus,  withoiit  leaving  her  home, 
like  the  Princess  Isabel  of  Cousin  Salome's  storj-, 
■or  seeking  for  a  great  work. 

The  grannies  love  her  dearly,  and  by-and-by 
her  father  and  mother  will  come  home  from  India, 
and  they  too  will  love  their  darling  all  the 
■more  because  she  no  longer  'lives  in  a  jar  of 
Mixed  Pickles.' 


THE    DEPTHS. 


A  LAKE  looks  clear  and  pure  while  perfectly 
still ;  the  oar,  which  stirs  up  the  sand  from 
below,  is  notthe  cause  of  the  sand  being  there : 
it  lay  in  the  depths  before,  like  the  evil  in  the 
■depths  of  our  heart.  A.  L.  0.  E. 


THE  DOG  AND  THE  PASTIES. 

A  DOG  named  Black  Muzzle,  that  had  been 
taught  to  go  errands,  was  one  day  sent  to 
a  pastrycook's  to  fetch  some  pasties  in  an  open 
basket.  Eoturning  home  he  was  followed  by  a 
dog  who  put  his  nose  into  the  basket  and  took  a 
pasty.  Black  IMuzzle  at  once  put  down  the 
basket  and  attacked  the  robber.  The  noise 
soon  attracted  other  dogs,  and  they  fell  to  eathig 
the  contents  of  the  basket. 

Black  Muzzle,  seeing  there  was  no  means  i  if 
saving  the  pasties,  left  off  fighting  ;  and  as  if  to 
say,  since  the  pasties  were  to  be  devoureil  he 
might  as  well  have  them,  set  to  and  ate  as 
quickly  a  possible  what  remained  of  them. 


A    CRUEL    INVADER. 

^^  T  was  a  lovely  shrubbery  :  there  were  big 
trees  and  little  trees,  evergreen  shrubs 
and  thick  bushes,  wherein  safe  nests 
might  be  made  in  the  spring,  and 
1^  beautiful  hiding-places  for  singing  in 
all  the  summer  long. 

'So  retreat  could  be  more  secure, 
and  so  it  was  not  to  be  wondered  at 
that  many  a  liappj'  family  of  birds  apjieared 
from  the  groups  of  eggs,  white  and  sjieckled 
and  green,  that  adorned  the  nests  formed  by 
the  happj'  songsters  in  the  leafy  bower. 

One  sad  day,  however,  there  arose  a  great 
commotion,  for  a  pair  of  little  birds,  who  had 
built  their  nest  upon  one  of  the  upjjer  branches 
of  an  old  poUard  oak,  in  a  tiny  hole  that  was 
safe  from  all  intruders,  saw  with  dismay  a  cat 
stealthHy  creeping  along  a  lower  bough. 

She  was  a  naughty  cat,  very  fond  of  invading 
the  sanctity  of  the  birdies'  homes  and  stealing 
away  their  fledglings ;  and  it  was  evident  that 
this  was  not  her  first  visit  to  the  shrubber\-. 

Love,  afiection,  despair,  made  these  little 
birds  brave  beyond  words,  for  they  dashed 
down  through  the  leafy  boughs,  and  pecked 
and  fluttered,  and  beat  with  their  wings,  trying 
to  peck  the  monster's  eyes,  that  they  quite  be- 
wildered her ;  and  unaccustomed  to  be  thus  met, 
the  cruel  enemy  at  last  retired. 

Brave  little  birds  so  to  defend  their  offs2n'Iag  I 
they  deserved  to  be  victorious. 


Sunday  Reading  for  7 he  Young. 


The  Cat  -n-as  be-\vildered. 


Sunday  Reading  tOR  the  Young. 


289 


290 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


THE    ANIMALS    OF    THE    BIBLE. 

The  Dog. 


'  Fondly  loves  the  dog  his  master, 

Knows  no  friend  as  him  so  dear; 
Listens  for  Ws  coming  footsteps, 
Loves  his  welcome  voice  to  hear. 

Has  he  faults? — he  never  sees  them; 

la  lie  poor? — it  matters  not ; 
All  he  asks  is  to  be  near  him — 

Humbly  near,  to  share  his  lot. 

As  a  faithful  friend  to  share  it ; 

To  be  with  him  night  or  day, 
Ever  ready  when  he  calleth ; 

When  he  biddeth,  to  obey. 

To  obey  with  will  instinctive. 

Which  can  neither  fail  nor  swerve ; 

Asking  for  his  faithful  duty, 
Only  love,  and  leave  to  serve. 

Only  crumbs  below  his  table ; 

Little  only  of  his  much  ; 
Words  or  looks  of  kind  approval, 

Or  the  hand's  electric  touch.' 

)HE  dog  as  lvno\ATi  to  us,  and  the 
dog  of  Eastern  lands,  are  very 
different  animals.  It  is  just 
such  a  difference  as  between 
the  life  of  a  nobleman's  child, 
brought  up  amidst  plenty  and 
treated  with  indulgence,  and  the 
life  of  some  poor  outcast,  wandering 
with  its  parents  from  place  to  place, 
and  living  on  the  hardest  fare. 
Of  course  there  are  with  us  some  dogs 
neglected  and  ill-treated  ;  but  generally  they  fare 
■well.  In  Palestine,  however,  the  dog  always  has 
had  a  bad  life  of  it:  and  by  the  ancient  Jews  he  was 
regarded  as  merely  a  wild,  greedj-  animal,  run- 
ning about  at  will,  -without  a  master,  and  eating 
whatever  he  could  get.  And  this  shows  how 
iieedfnl  it  is  to  know  something  about  natural 
history  to  be  able  to  imderstand  the  Bible.  It 
is  not  surprising  that  those  not  acquainted  with 
the  habits  of  the  dog  in  Eastern  lands,  and  the 
feeling  of  the  Jews  in  relation  to  it,  are  puzzled 
when  they  read  what  is  said  of  it,  and  comjjare 
that  with  the  feelings  most  people  have  toward 
dogs  in  this  land. 

The  Scriptural  references  to  the  dog  are  very 
numerous,  and  not  in  one  place  is  the  animal 
spoken  of  without  some  degree  of  aversion.  'Am 
I  a  dog,'  said  Goliath  to  David,  '.that  thou 
comest  to  me  with  staves'?'  and  when  Hazael 


came  to  Elisha  with  a  message,  and  the  prophet- 
told  him  what  he  would  do  in  the  future,  Hazael 
cried,  'Is  thy  servant  a  dog,  that  he  shoitld  do- 
this  thing  ? '  And  to  be  eaten  after  death  by 
dogs  was,  to  a  J  ew,  of  all  liorrible  things  the  most 
horrible,  and  it  is  still  to  a  modern  Oriental. 

In  t"he  New  Testament  dogs  are  regarded  in 
the  .same  way  as  m  the  Old.  It  was  common  in 
our  Lord's  day  to  show  great  contempt  for 
Gentiles  by  calling  them  'dogs.' 

Angry  Mohammedans,  in  their  spite  towards 
Jews  and  Christians,  will  often,  in  the  present 
day,  say  '  Dog  of  a  Christian ! '  or  '  Dog  of  a 
Jew!' 

Of  the  dogs  now  found  in  Palestine  there  are 
three  distinct  breeds.  First,  there  is  the  famihar 
pariah  dog  of  the  towms  and  villages ;  secondly, 
the  Syrian  sheep-dog,  resembling  our  colhe,  or 
Scotch  sheep-dog,  but  larger;  and  thirdly,  there 
is  the  Persian  greyhoimd. 

The  dogs  of  the  towns  are  very  badly  off. 
They  have  neither  masters  nor  home;  and  a 
traveller,  however  fond  of  dogs  he  may  be,  feels 
in  no  way  drawn  to  the  gaunt,  wretched-looldng 
creatures,  which,  as  they  rush  about  the  streets 
at  night,  barking,  and  keeping  up  an  incessant 
howling,  seem  more  like  wolves  than  dogs.  As 
to  fondling  and  patting  them,  no  one  would 
think  of  approaching  them  exce^jt  with  a  stick. 
And  this  is  indeed  necessary  sometimes,  for 
strangers  or  persons  dressed  differently  to  what 
the  dogs  mostly  see  are  noticed  directly  bj^  these 
animals,  whose  instincts  are  often  very  sharp, 
and  a  party  of  them  dashing  upon  you  at  a 
dark  comer  is  an  awkward  thing;  but  a  stick  or- 
stone  will  send  them  off,  for,  like  the  jackal, 
they  are  generally  afraid  of  man  if  they  see  that 
he  is  not  afraid  of  them. 

It  does  not  aptjiear  that  the  ancient  Hebrews 
ever  employed  the  dog  as  a  watch-dog,  to  guard 
the  house. 

The  Syrian  sheep-dogs,  kept  by  farmers  in, 
the  country,  fare  rather  better  than  the  town, 
dogs,  for  they  are  kept  under  management  to- 
guard  the  fields,  and  prevent  the  flocks  from 
straying.  From  their  master's  hands  they  get  some 
food,  though  they  are  not  thought  much  better 
of  than  their  brothers  of  the  town.  Such  disdain 
and  neglect  of  these  sheep-dogs  is  not  merited^ 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


291 


!for  tliey  are  bold,  intelligent,  and  faithful  animals, 
and  will  rusli  on  the  wolf,  even  to  their  own 
destruction,  sooner  than  desert  the  flock. 

The  Persian  greyhound  is  much  prized,  and 
is  used  in  the  chase  of  the  gazelle.  With  its 
long,  siUiy  ears  and  tail,  it  is  perhaps  the  most 
beautiful  of  its  kind. 

It  is  very  curious  to  note,  that  although  the 
Jews  must  have  been  acquainted  with  the  use 
-of  the  dog  for  huntuig  purposes  when  they  were 
in  Egypt,  and  could  not,  one  would  suppose,  be 
ignorant  of  the  hunting-dogs  of  their  neigh- 
bours, the  Assyrians,  later  on  in  their  history, 
-they  never  cared  aboiit  himting,  and  never 
employed  the  dog  for  that  purpose. 

It  would  be  endless  trouble  to  attempt  to 
•enumerate  the  various  breeds  and  varieties  of 
the  domestic  dog.  He  has  followed  man  all 
■over  the  world,  and  thus,  as  an  inhabitant  of  all 
■countries,  appears  in  the  most  varied  sizes  and 
foi-ms.  Each  variety  of  the  dog  seems  gifted 
with  some  peculiar  qualitj- — the  greyhound  with 
speed,  the  mastiff  with  honest  trustiness,  as  a 
sentinel  to  protect  his  master's  hearth  and  home, 
-the  Esquimaux  dog  with  hardy  strength  and 
■endurance. 

The  large  breed  of  dogs  of  the  mastiff  kind, 
liept  on  Mount  St.  Bernard,  are  deserving  of 
particular  mention.  In  the  convent,  built  among 
the  snows  of  that  mountain,  the  highest  in- 
habited dwelling  in  Europe,  these  dogs  are  kept 
to  assist  the  monks  in  finding  and  rescuing  poor 
Ttravellers  in  the  snow.     To  this  work  tliov  are 


regularly  tramed;  and  when  the  dark,  winter 
days  set  in,  and  the  blinding  snow  is  falling 
thick,  these  noble  dogs  are  sent  out,  generally 
wth  a  little  keg  of  spirits  fastened  round  their 
necks,  for  the  immediate  use  of  any  traveller  they 
may  find  in  distress  among  the  snow.  Upon 
finding  such  they  then  run  back  to  their  masters, 
giving  the  alarm  by  continuous  barking,  and 
very  soon  they  return  to  the  spot  with  helj)  for 
the  unfortunate. 

Never  was  a  creature  better  adapted  than  is 
the  dog  to  be  the  companion  of  man  ;  for  it  has 
been  well  said  of  him,  that  he  remembers  benefits 
as  persistently  as  he  forgets  injuries.  Among 
animals  he  alone  seems  to  have  a  real  attach- 
ment and  predilection  for  the  human  species, 
attaching  himself  to  his  master,  adopting  his 
manners,  distinguishing  and  defending  his  pro- 
perty, and  remaining  attached  to  him  till  death. 

'And  the  dog  is  still  the  faithful, 
Still  the  loving  fi-iend  of  man; 
Ever  ready  at  his  bidding. 
Doing  all  the  good  he  can. 

Let  us  take  from  him  a  lesson, 

As  the  wisest  of  us  may — 
Learn  a  willingness  in  duty, 

And  be  ready  to  obey. 

Let  us  to  our  loving  Master, 

Give  our  will,  our  hearts,  our  all ; 

And  be  ever,  ever  watchful. 
To  attend  His  slightest  call.' 

T.  S. 


'GOD'S    PROVIDENCE    IS    MINE    INHERITANCE.' 


LONG-  ago  a  dreadful  sickness,  called  the 
Plague,  came  to  England.  We  have  no 
such  sickness  now,  I  am  glad  to  say.  Wherever 
it  came  it  killed  so  many  people  that  the  towns 
■were  quite  deserted.  Those  people  who  had  the 
disease  in  their  houses  were  obliged  to  chalk  a 
cross  on  the  door,  and  then  no  one  wonld 
come  in ;  and  very  often  people  died  for  want  of 
food  who  might  have  recovered  of  the  plague,  if 
only  they  had  been  jwoperly  nursed  and  fed. 

In  1652  the  plague  came  to  Chester,  and 
-many  people  died  of  it.  House  after  house 
in  the  old  city  had  the  dreadful  cross  on  its 
-<loor,  and  the  words,  '  Lord,   have  mercy  upon 


us  I '  wTitten  below  the  cross,  showing  that  the 
plague  was  there.  It  was  a  hot  summer,  and 
the  plague  grew  worse  and  worse ;  more  and 
more  houses  wore  the  dreaded  sign. 

At  last,  in  the  whole  of  Watergate  Street 
there  was  only  one  house  without  the  croBS, 
and  free  from  the  plague.  The  people  who 
lived  in  this  house,  no  doubt,  thought  their  turn 
would  come,  but  it  never  came.  In  gratitude 
to  God  for  His  mercy,  tlie  master  of  the  house 
had  '  God's  Providence  is  mine  inheritance ' 
cari'ed  on  the  front  of  it,  and  there  the  words 
are  to  this  day. 

'  Great  Britain  for  Little  JJritons.' 


292 


Sunday  ReadiNG  for  the  Young. 


"^^— ^^ 


GET  into  the  boat  and  away  to  the  West, 
See-saw  !  see-saw  I  see-saw  1 
For  they've  cut  down  the  tree  with  the  poor  linnet's  nest. 

See-saw  1  see-saw  I  see-saw  I 
Tlie  huh-ushes  nod  and  the  water -UHes  sigh, 

See-saw  1  see-saw  !  see-saw  I 
And  all  of  ns  know  the  sad  reason  why, 

See-saw  I  see-saw  '.  see-saw  ! 
For,  oil !  the  tree — the  tree's  cut  do"mi, 
And  every  one  of  its  leaves  is  hro'^ii ; 
And  in  the  field  the  children  play, 
But  the  little  linnet  has  flo^^^l  away : 

Oh.  dear  I  oh,  dear  I  oh.  dear  ! 

From  '  Under  Mother's  Wing. 


'<i:^C,J:-    >       V      -.iVl^TJ' 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


293 


EAGAMTJFFITT      TOM. 

(Continued  from  page  2&i.) 
CHAPTEE    XI. IS     THE     COUNTRY. 

A  MONG  tlie  roughs  in  tlie  station-house  there  could  lead  him  into  any  harm.     The  message 

J-A.   was  one  in  particular  who  knew,  without  seemed   innocent   enough,   and.  as   soon   as   he 

doiibt,  that  he  would  be  imprisoned  for  some  found  himself  at  liberty,  he  hastened  to  deliver  it. 

time.     He  asked  Tom  whether,  if  he  were  let  off,  He  had  some  trouble  in  finding  Mrs.  Cox, 


lie  would  go  and  see  his  wife,  Mrs.  Cox,  and  give 
her  a  message  from  him,  for  he  said  she  would 
be  greatly  cut  up  at  his  absence. 

Tom  promised  he  would  do  so,  for  it  did  not 
occur   to  him   that   such   a  kindly  proceeding 


and  after  her  husband's  remark  was  sur23rised  at 
the  cool  way  in  which  she  received  his  message, 
and  the  news  of  his  imprisonment.  Tom,  how- 
ever, did  not  trouble  himself  much  about  her,  for 
his  mind  was  greatly  occupied  in  tliinking  of  the 


:294 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


sort  of  reception  he  ■would  meet  wtli  from  Mrs. 
Middleborongli  and  his  other  friends.  Would 
they  believe  his  story  ?  Would  they  lilame  him 
for  fighting,  and  object  to  having  anything  to 
•  do  with  a  boy  who  had  been  in  prison? 

That  he  should  have  been  there  seemed  most 

dreadful  to  Tom's  imaginative  mind.     He  had 

.always  felt  proud   of  his   freedom  from   street 


the  market,  and  all  for  nothing.  He  must 
remain  at  her  house  for  the  day,  she  said,  and  in 
the  early  morning  go  off  into  the  country  with 
her  son  and  brother. 

'VMiile  she  was  talking  to  Tom  the  tv/o  men 
entered,  and  Mrs.  Cox  explained  who  the  visitor 
was,  and  mentioned  her  husband's  message,  also 
remarking  that  she  was  trying  to  persuade  Tom 


'''^~.., 


.  rows,  and  had  looked  with  a  feeling  of  contempt 
on  the  men  and  boys  whom,  at  various  times,  he 
had  seen  walked  off  by  the  police.  Now  his 
pride  had  had  a  fall,  and  he  himself  had  been  in 
the  same  jjosition. 

Mrs.  Cox  asked  him  what  he  did  for  a  living, 
and  when  he  told  her,  she  laughed  to  scorn  his 
humble  trading  ;  but  said  that  if  he  really  cared 
about  that  mode  of  life  she  would  put  him  into  the 
way  of  getting  much  better  cresses  than  those  at 


i^liv!'^' 


to  go  with  them  on  tlieir  country  expedition. 
One  of  the  men  winked  knowingly  at  her,  and 
took  up  the  same  strain,  adding  that  they  were 
going  on  a  haymaking  job  and  would  be  well 
l^aid ;  if  Tom  liked  he  might  go  with  them  and 
share  the  worlv  and  the  profits,  or  gather  water- 
cresses  to  bring  back  to  town  and  sell. 

Tom  liked  the  idea,  for  during  the  scuiBe 
Bob  had  possessed  himself  of  the  few  shilhngs  he 
had  earned,  and  as  he  did  not  wish  to  go  home 


Sunday. Reading  for  the  Young. 


295 


empty-handed,  he  made  i;p  his  mind  at  once, 
and  lay  down  on  the  floor  to  rest  himself  after 
his  sleepless  night  in  the  station-honse. 

Mrs.  Middlehorough  could  not  read,  and 
•writing  was  not  yet  a  matter  of  course  to  our 
hero,  so  he  did  not  even  think  of  sending  her  a 
line  or  two  to  say  where  he  was  going,  hut 
trusted  to  make  it  all  right  when  he  should  re- 
appear with  the  pocketful  of  money  his  new 
companions  promised  him. 

The  next  morning  he  was  awakened  very 
early,  and  after  partaking  of  a  really  good 
breakfast  provided  by  Mrs.  Cox,  the  two  men 
and  himself  set  off  together  and  walked  to 
King's  Cross,  where  they  took  tickets  at  the 
railway  station  for  all  three,  and  got  into  a  train 
for  the  north. 

Tom  had  never  been  into  the  country.  It 
was  an  unknown  region,  of  which  he  had  cer- 
tainty heard  but  of  which  he  had  foimed  no 
idea.  Now  and  then  he  had  caught  a  glimpse 
of  the  parks,  but  as  they  offered  no  scope  for 
business  he  did  not  frequent  them.  As  the  traiu 
sped  on,  the  fresh  clear  air  and  the  lovely  views 
dehghted  him  immensely.  He  sat  gazing  out  of 
the  window  in  an  ecstasy,  much  to  the  amusement 
of  his  fellow-travellers,  Avho  pronounced  him  '  a 
rum  chap.' 

About  middaj'  they  arrived  at  their  des- 
tination, and  descending  from  the  train  trudged 
off  in  search  of  work.  Although  the  men  said 
they  had  not  been  to  the  neighbourhood  before, 
they  seemed  to  know  exactly  where  to  go,  and 
after  hah-an-hour's  AA'alking  arrived  at  a  large 
farm,  where  they  applied  for  work  ;  it  was  given 
to  them  at  once  by  the  bailiff  who  was  in  charge. 

The  haymaking  went  on  busily.  Tom  had 
never  been  so  happy  before.  The  sweet-smelling 
hay,  the  pretty  wild  flowers,  the  fresh  air  and 
sunshine,  the  blue  sky  above  him,  all  made 
him  feel  like  a  different  being,  and  he  wondered 
that  any  one  should  live  in  London  who  could 
dwell  in  such  a  paradise  as  this.  The  country 
haymakers  did  not  care  to  make  acquaintance 
with  the  three  Londoners,  who  were  therefore 
left  to  themselves ;  indeed,  Tom's  companions 
did  not  wish  to  make  friends,  but  he  himself 
would  gladly  have  been  on  terms  with  some  of 
the  other  boys. 

The  haymalcing  was  expected  to  last  for 
three  or  four  days  longer,  and  the  bailiff  pointed 


out  a  barn  in  which  any  who  liked  might  pass 
the  uight.  Tom  and  the  two  men  with  him 
were,  however,  the  only  ones  who  availed  them- 
selves of  the  accommodation.  The  wages  were 
paid  every  evening,  after  which  they  bought 
food  for  supper  and  the  next  morning's  break- 
fast, and  then  lay  down  to  sleep  thoroughly  tired 
out,  the  straw,  which  was  thickly  strewn  on  the 
floor  of  the  barn,  making  a  delightful  bed. 

The  days  passed  quickly  by,  and  Tom  was 
beginning  to  think  of  the  return  to  London.  He 
had  spent  very  little  of  the  money  he  had  earned 
by  haymaking,  and  considered  himself  quite 
rich.  The  change  into  the  country  and  the  new 
sights  and  scenes  had  revived  him  and  given  him 
fresh  courage,  so  that  he  no  longer  feared  to  meet 
his  old  friend  Mrs.  Middlehorough  and  the 
gentlemen  at  the  night-school.  He  had  had  a 
passing  thought  that  he  would  not  mention  his 
adventures  relative  to  the  '  lock-up,'  but  merely 
say  that  he  had  been  into  the  country  to  gather 
cresses  and  make  hay  ;  fresh  strength,  however, 
had  given  him  courage,  and  he  put  aside  this 
unworthy  idea,  and  he  resolved  to  tell  the  truth, 
and  take  his  chance  of  what  might  befall. 
(To  6e  continued.) 


MEADOW-SWEET. 

WALKED  in  a  field  of  fresh  clover  the 
morn. 

Where  lambs  played  so  merrily  imder  the  trees. 
Or  rubbed  their  soft  coats  on  a  naked  old  thorn, 
Or  nibbled  the  clover,  or  rested  at  ease. 

And  under  the  hedge  ran  a  clear  water-brook. 
To  drink  from  when  thirsty  or  weary  with 
play ; 
So  gay  did  the  daisies  and  buttercups  look, 
That  I  thought  little  lambs  must  be  happy 
all  day. 

And  when  I  remember  the  beautiful  psalm. 
That  tells  about  Clu-ist  and  His  pastures  so 
green, 

I  know  He  is  willing  to  make  me  His  lamb, 
And  happier  far  than  the  lambs  I  have  seen. 

If  I  drink  of  the  waters  so  peaceful  and  still. 
That  flow  in  His  field,  I  for  ever  shall  live ; 

If  I  love  Him,  and  seek  His  Commands  to  fulfil, 
A  place  in  His  sheepfold  to  me  He  will  give. 


296 


Sunday  Readiag  for  the  Young. 


^\!  ^] 


f  ffl 


/ «  <  1 


t?^^^ 


M 


aI 


Meadow-sweet. 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


207 


More  Frightened  than  Hurt. 
Q  Q 


298 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


MORE    FRIGHTENED    THAN    HURT. 

jjOUIS  had  no  business  there,  he 
was  but  a  little  boy  and 
ought  to  obey  his  mother  in 
all  she  says;  but  Louis  was 
like  many  more,  and  wanted 
his  own  way:  and  he  got  it 
too.  He  would  go  where  he 
was  bidden  not  to  go.  and  then, 
in  running  away  from  his  sister, 
sent  to  fetch  him  in,  he  tumbled 
down  and  made  himself  wet  in 
the  little  trickling  steam  running  out  of  the  foot 
of  the  roclcs. 

More  frightened  tlian  hurt,  no  doubt,  but  dis- 
obedience always  brings  punishment  in  its  train, 
and  that  is  just. 

But  Louis'  temper  is  soon  over,  and  he 
■v^'ill  beg  Marie's  pardon,  and  ask  mother  tci 
forgive  him,  and  be  a  good  boy  once  more. 

Oh,  Louis,  Louis  !  what  a  grand  victory  it 
would  be  to  conquer  that  naughty  httle  temper 
of  yours  I  It  wo^ld  be  worth  any  sacrifice  to 
accomplish  that. 


SUNDAYS    IN    QUARANTINE. 


T INA.  Come,  let's  draw  round  the  fire:  what 

a  blessing  we  have  got  something  decided 

upon  for  our  Sunday  afternoons  I    Here.  Charlie, 

let  me  carry  your  chair :  it  is  too  heav}'  for  you. 

Mtigli.  Charlie  to  come,  too  I  He'll  spoil  the 
whole  thing.  A  child  of  five  can't  take  an 
interest  in  this,  he  will  fidget  the  whole  time. 
Let  him  have  his  picture-book  in  the  corner, 
over  there,  where  he  won't  disturb  us. 

Charlie.  Hughie,  let  me  stay ;  I  can  listen  :  I 
like  Lina's  stories.  I  know  one  about  a  good 
dog,  that  gave  up  its  own  bone  to  a  vary  thin 
dog  that  it  saw  in  the  street. 

Hugh.  We  don't  allow  dog-stories.  Charhe. 
These  are  to  be  Sunday  stories  about  Christians. 
and  you  are  too  little  to  be  able  to  understand 
them. 

Lina  (softly).  Let  him  come,  Hughie,  if  he 
wants.  Kemember,  Jesus  would  not  let  the 
disciples  send  awaj'  the  little  children,  whom 
they  thought  only  interrupted  Him.  He  liked 
the  little  ones  to  be  near  Him. 


Hugh.  All  right.  Charlie :   you  can  come. 
Mai'ij.  Quick,  then,   Lina.      I  want   dread- 
fully to  hear  what  j'our  sei'mon  is  upon. 

Lina.  Well,  my  story  is  about  a  very  beau- 
tiful island,  bright  with  gay  flowers.  All  round 
a  sea  of  the  deepest  blue,  and  with  lovely  shells- 
fringing  its  shores. 

Charlie.  I  know,  Lina — the  Isle  of  Wight. 
Lina.  Xo.  Charlie,  miles  and  miles  away 
from  that :  much  farther  off  than  we  could  go  to 
for  our  summer  hoHdays.  I  am  thinking  of  the- 
Sandwich  Islands,  where  Captain  Cook,  the  great 
traveller,  who  was  the  first  to  sail  round  the- 
world,  was  killed. 

Mary.  The  savages  ate  him,  didn't  they,- 
Lina '? 

Hugh.  I  say,  Lina,  how  often  are  they  to  in- 
terrupt you  like  this  ?  I  thought  it  Avas  to  be- 
a  sermon.  I  should  like  to  see  anyone  ask 
questions  like  that  in  church,  he  would  soon  be 
turned  out. 

Lina.  Well,  Hugh,  you  see,  this  is  not  exactly 
hke  church,  for  that  is  a  consecrated  place.  I 
think  we  might  be  allowed  to  ask  a  question  or- 
two,  it  makes  it  so  much  more  interesting. 

These  Sandwich  Islands  were  really  prettier 
than  anything  we  have  seen:  more  brighth' 
coloured  than  Devonshire,  and  never  cold  or 
foggy.  You  would  think,  to  see  the  women 
wearing  their  flower  necklaces,  and  the  children 
galloping  about  on  their  ponies,  that  they  never 
had  a  sad  thought. 

Charlie.  Ponies,  Lina  I  how  man}-  had  they?" 

Lina.  Every  child  has  its  own  pony;  quite 
the  poorest  child  rides  everywhere,  instead  of 
walldng  there. 

Hugh.  A  first-rate  place  to  live  in,  I  should 
think. 

Lina.  Yes ;  so  everyone  would  say,  were  it 
not  for  one  dreadful  disease,  that  is  the  terror  of 
all  the  islanders ;  much  worse  than  scarlet-fever, 
for  from  this  disease  there  is  no  recovery.  A 
cure  is  unknown.  Can  an}'  of  you  guess  it» 
name  ? 

Alary.  Leprosy? 

Lina.  Eight,  Mary.  Leprosy  is  quite  com- 
mon there,  even  in  tiny  children.  At  first, 
you  would  hardly  notice  the  signs  of  it,  and 
think  that  the  glassy  eye  and  shining  skin  of 
the  little  ones  was  their  natural  state,  but  they 
quickly  grow  worse,  and  the  pretty  httle  child 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


299 


soon  becomes  a  sad  sight,  that  ouly  death  can 
free  from  its  dreadful  sufferings. 

Mary.  Lina,  liow  sadl  Can't  they  really  do 
anything  to  make  them  better? 

Lina.  No,  nothing  has  been  found  of  the  least 
"use  in  curing  those  once  attacked.  The  worst 
is,  that  leprosy  is  so  infectious,  that  all  the  islands 
were  becoming  fast  peopled  by  lepers,  which  so 
alarmed  the  king,  that  he  and  the  government 
made  a  law  that  everyone  with  the  least  speck 
of  leprosy  on  him  was  to  leave  his  home,  and 
go  away  to  one  of  the  islands  called  Molo- 
kai,  and  live  there,  apart  from  all  the  healthy 
people. 

Hugh.  What  a  cruel,  tyrannical  man  that 
Jdng  must  have  been  I 

Lina.  I  don't  think  he  was;  he  did  it  for  the 
best — to  save  the  lives  of  the  remaining  islanders. 
It  was  a  dreadful  sight,  the  government  officers 
■coming  round  to  all  the  houses  to  carry  the 
lepers  off.  Many  resisted,  but  some  went  quite 
■quietly,  Imowing  it  was  a  sensible  law.  Even 
±he  cousin  of  the  Queen  of  Hawaii  was  found  to 
be  a  leper,  and  he  had  to  go,  too. 

Marl/.  Weren't  tliey  very  dull  and  sad,  all 
packed  off  together  like  that? 

Lina.  The  government  did  their  best  to 
make  them  feel  settled.  They  built  them  schools 
and  hospitals,  and  even  churches.  And  now  I 
am  coming  to  the  real  sermon.  You  know  that 
■everyone  on  this  island  was  a  leper.  School- 
master, doctors,  all  are  forced  inhabitants  of  this 
•colony.  But  there  was  found  one  healthy 
clergyman,  who,  for  the  love  of  Christ,  gave  up 
liberty,  and  went  into  quarantine  for  life  to 
minister  to  these  outcasts.  He  Avas  a  Belgian ; 
and  when  you  think  that  he  was  certain  to 
catch  the  lejirosy  himself,  and  die  a  fearful  death, 
I  think  this  man  is  as  brave  as  any  I  have  heard 
of.     ^ATiat  do  you  say,  Hugh  ? 

Hugli.  I  can't  bear  to  think  of  it,  Lina.  A 
splendid  fellow  he  must  have  been.  Is  he  alive 
yet? 

Lina.  I  don't  know,  Hugh.  Alive  or  dead 
he  will  always  be  a  real  hero  to  me. 

Hugh.  I  shall  have  to  hunt  well  if  I  am  to 
find  a  soldier  to  match  him,  I  must  say,  for  they 
were  generally  brave  in  the  excitement  of  battle, 
but  he  must  have  coolly  faced  the  certainty  of 
ending  his  days  like  the  rest  of  th®se  poor 
wretches  he  lived  amongst. 


Charlie.  I  hope  he  had -a  nice  pony,  Lina, 
that  good  man. 

Lina.  I  am  sure  he  had  the  best  on  the  leper 
island,  if  there  were  any  ponies,  for  everyone 
loved  him  for  being  so  good  and  kind. 


AM"   ELEPHANT   ANECDOTE. 

SOME  missionaries  in  Africa  were  journey- 
ing through  that  continent,  and  one  dark 
and  rainy  night  arrived  close  to  the  outskirts  of 
a  settled  village,  just  at  the  time  when  a  troop  of 
elephants  were  passing.  They  could  hear  the 
animals  bellowing  and  trumpeting  to  each  other; 
and  knowing  how  dangerous  it  is  to  encounter 
them  at  night,  the  travellers  kept  close  till  day- 
light, and  even  extinguished  their  watch-fire, 
which  mig>ht  have  attracted  the  attention  of  the 
herd. 

When  morning  dawned  they  saUied  forth,  and 
soon  discovered  the  cause  of  the  uproar.  There 
was,  close  to  the  village,  a  ditch  or  trench,  some- 
six  feet  wide  and  twelve  deep,  which  had  been 
cut  through  the  bank  of  the  river,  to  lead  the 
water  into  some  "'arden,  and  to  drive  a  corn-mill 
which  the  European  settlers  had  just  set  up. 

Into  this  trench,  which  was  still  unfinished 
and  without  water,  one  of  the  elephants  had 
fallen,  for  the  marks  of  his  feet  were  clearly  to  be 
seen  at  the  bottom,  and  the  impress  of  his  huge 
body  on  the  sides  of  the  trench. 

It  was  easy  to  see  he  had  fallen  in,  but  how 
he  had  ever  contrived  to  get  out  was  a  marvel. 
The  only  explanation  possible,  after  examining 
the  edges  of  the  ditch,  and  the  tracks  and  foot- 
marks, was  that  the  poor  beast's  comrades  had 
stationed  themselves  on  either  side,  some  kneel- 
ing, some  on  their  feet,  and  by  concerted  and 
united  efforts  had  hoisted  the  unlucky  captive 
out  of  the  pit.  It  was  no  ordinary  sagacity  that 
tliey  displayed  in  this  incident. 


TIME   AND   ETERNITY. 

IT  is  said  of  Lord  W.  Russell,  who  was 
beheaded  in  the  reign  of  Charles  II.,  that 
when  he  was  on  the  scaffold  he  gave  his  watch 
to  Dr.  Gilbert  Burnet,  afterwards  Bishop  of 
Sahsbury.  'Here,  sir,'  he  said,  'take  this;  it 
shows  'Time.  I  am  going  into  Eternity,  and 
shall  no  longer  have  anv  need  of  it.' 


300: 


Slwday  Readixg  for  the  Y0i\G. 


RAGAMTjrFIN    TOM. 


(Continued  fr 

THE  last  Jay  of  the  liaymakiiig  came,  and 
there  was  no  more  employment  for  the 
strangers.  During  the  early  part  of  the  evening. 
'J'om  set  out  to  gather  cresses  from  a  pretty  little 
lirook  which  rippled  across  a  meadow  not  far 
from  the  farm-house.  He  walked  along  the  side 
of  tlie  little  stream  gathering  fresh  green  cresses 
as  he  went,  and  thinl;ing  what  he  would  buy 
as  a  ]iresent  for  Mrs.  Middleborongh. 

Suddenly  he  was  roused  from  his  thoughts 
by  heaving  voices 
which  sounded 
familiar  to  his  ear. 
He  looked  up  and 
saw  two  young- 
ladies  approaching 
him  slowly.  They 
also  were  picking 
cresses,  and  had 
baskets  on  their 
arms  full  of  wild 
flowers,  ivy,  and 
moss-grown  bits  of 
stick.  Tom  gazed 
steadfastly  at  them 
for  a  few  moments, 
and  then  made  ofl' 
as  fast  as  lie  could 
in  order  to  hide 
himself  behind  a 
hedge  which  bor- 
dered the  meadow. 

The  girls  were  chatting  as  they  came  along, 
and  when  within  earshot  Tom  heard  one  of  them 
saj', '  We  must  make  haste,  Katie,  or  we  shall  be 
late  for  tea.  I  think  we  have  got  quite  enough 
water-cresses  for  uncle  and  aunt.' 

'  Yes,  I  suppose  we  have  enough,'  replied 
Kate,  regretfully:  'but  I  do  like  gathering  them 
so  much,  and  we  seem  only  just  to  have  come 
out.' 

'  We  must  go  in,  howevej- ;  so  make  haste, 
Katie.' 

'To  his  no  small  surprise,  Tom  had  recognised 
Margaret  and  Kate  Lucas.  They  had  just 
come  to  Walnut-tree  Farm  on  a  visit  to  tlieir 
uncle  and  aunt,  who  had  brought  them  back  with 
them  on  their  return  from  a  short  stav  in  town. 


^^ 


onipaye  29 j.) 

Tom  had  not  chanced  to  hear  the  name  of  the 
owners  of  the  property,  neither  had  the  name  of 
the  farm  caught  his  ear.  He  felt  half  amused,  half 
afraid,  to  think  he  was  probably  near  his  old 
enemy,  for  he  rightly  guessed  that  the  uncle  and 
aunt  alluded  to  could  be  no  other  than  Mr,  and 
Mrs.  Knox. 

He  could  think  of  nothing  but  the  risk  he  ran 
of  meeting  some  of  the  family,  unless  he  got  off 
early  the  next  day.    He  r,nd  his  companions  had 

leave  to  sleep  this 
night,  as  before,  in 
the  barn,  and  they 
all  lay  down  to  rest 
pretty  early.  Plan- 
ning how  he  coTild 
start  early  without 
exciting  the  sus- 
picion of  his  two 
bedfellows  kept 
Tom  awake ;  liwt  he 
was  so  quiet  that  the 
two  men  never  for 
a  moment  supposed 
he  was  not  asleep. 
They  were  talking 
softly  together ;  but 
he  paid  no  attention 
to  what  they  were 
saying  until  the 
name.  Kriox,  struck 
his  ear,  and  roused 
him  up  :  then,  to  his  consternation,  he  found  that 
they  were  planning  to  rob  the  farmhouse.  It  also 
appeared  that  they  had  intended  making  use  of 
him.  To  his  intense  relief,  however,  he  found 
that  they  had  given  up  that  idea,  not  considering 
him  to  be  of  a  thieving  turn  of  mind,  and  had 
put  oft'  the  execution  of  their  project  until  the 
next  night,  when  he  would  be  safe  in  London. 
This  was  a  nice  state  of  things  I 
Tom's  dislike  to  Mrs.  Knox  had  abated: 
besides,  he  would  have  been  deeply  grieved  if 
any  trouble  which  he  coidd  avert  should  fall  on 
the  Lucases.  He  wondered  how  Mr.  Knox  had 
escaped  the  massacre,  for  that  he  had  escaped 
was  evident,  the  two  men  having  spoken  of  him 
as  the  master  of  the  farm. 


Sunday  Readixg  for  the  Young. 


301 


Some  means  must  be  thought  of  by  which  he 
could  save  the  family,  not  only  from  robbery  but 
perhaps  worse,  for  the  men  beside  him  had  shown 
themselves  to  be  desperate  characters  by  their 
conversation,  and  would  stand  at  nothing  in 
order  to  compass  their  end.  Tom  thought  and 
thought,  and  at  last  decided  that  he  would  by 
some  means  prociire  pen,  ink,  and  paper,  with 
which  to  write  a  note 
to  Mrs.  Knox. 

Far  away,  almost 
hidden  in  a  corner  of 
his  mind,  he  had  a 
naughty  little  thought, 
namely,  that  he  would 
not  object  to  giving  her 
a  slight  shock  at  the 
knowledge  of  what  was 
impending. 

The  two  thieves  at 
length  fell  asleep  and 
snored  in  concert.  At 
the  first  signs  of  dawn 
Tom  roused  himself, 
and  stood  looking  at 
the  sleepers,  thinking 
to  himself,  '  Shall  I  go 
without  a  word  ?'  Pre- 
sently the  elder  awoke. 
It  was  too  dusk  for 
him  to  see  who  was 
standing  near,  and  he 
started  on  beholding 
Tom,  for  his  conscience 
kept  him  in  constant 
dread  of  police  ;    then, 


recognizing   the  boy,   he  said   sharply,  '  Well, 

boy.  you  did  give  me  a  turn  I ' 

Tom  smiled,  and  replied  that  he  was  going', 

and  wished  to  say  good-bye. 

'  All  right,   old  chap,  we're  going  to  tramp 

farther  on  for  work.    Good-bye  ;  my  blessing  go 

with  you.' 

He  lay  down  again,  and  was  soon  fast  asleep. 
Tom  set  off  directly, 
hoping  to  be  able  to 
warn  his  former  friends 
without  making  himself 
knovMi  to  them. 

No  one  was  astir  in 
the  village.  It  was  too 
early  even  for  the  in- 
dustrious country  foUc ; 
so  Tom  sat  down  on  a 
low  wall,  and  watched 
the  first  tints  of  the 
morning  colour  the 
sky. 

The  cocks  were 
crowing,  and  before 
long  a  f  jirm  -  servant 
appeared,  carrying  a 
pail  full  of  milk,  sweet 
and  fresh.  She  gave 
Tom  a  good  draught, 
wishing  him  good 
speed  when  he  told  her 
he  was  going  away, 
and  then  proceeded 
on  her  way  to  the 
dairy. 

{To  be  continued.) 


F 


MY  SllfS. 

OR  me,  0  Lord,  Thy  Hands,  so  good, 


Were  pierced  with  the  nail. 
And  Thou  wast  fixed  upon  the  wood, 

All  bleeding,  bruised,  and  pale  : 
But  yet  in  me  still  live  and  grow 
The  sins  that  caused  Thy  grievous  woe  I 


STRONG    MINDS. 

The  strongest  minds  are  often  those  of  whom 
the  noisy  world  hears  least. 


THE    THREE    DEGREES    OF 
COMPARISON. 

Leaks  to  spare  an  inferior,  to  yield  to  a  superior, 
and  to  bear  an  equal. 


LITTLE  PRAYERS  FOR  LITTLE 
THINGS. 

WHILE  DRESSING. 

WHILE  I  am  careful  to  appear  decently 
dressed  before  men,  shall  my  soul  be  left 
naked,  or  clad  in  the  rags  of  sin,  before  the 
King  of  kings'?  I  shall  soon  go  to  His  presence ; 
oh,  maj^  I  then  be  dressed  in  the  royal  robes  of 
Christ's  merits. 


302 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


THREE   LITTLE    DAISIES. 


THREE  little  daisies  tliat  grew  in  a  row 
Were  talking  together  one  day, 
And  said  to  eaot  otlier,  '  We're  so  very  small — 
Just  wild  flowers,  the  children  say. 

We  feel  quite  despised,  and  think  we  were  made 

For  no  use  in  the  world  at  all ; 
We  look  all  around,  and  see  other  flowers 

So  stately,  so  graceful,  and  tall.' 

But  a  dear  little  child  came  running  along, 

Her  hands  full  of  roses  so  bright, 
And  seeing  the  daisies,  she  cast  them  away, 

So  gladdened  was  she  with  the  sight. 

'Oh,  the  dear  little  flowers,  I  love  them  so  well !' 
And  gathering  them  gently  mth  care, 

She  carried  them  home  to  be  near  her  always — 
The  sweet  little  daisies,  so  fair. 


But  she  never  went  out  again  to  the  fields 

To  gather  the  daisies  so  white  : 
Before  they  quite  withered,  she  drooped  and  she 
died. 

And  faded  away  from  our  sight. 

So  the   three   little   daisies  were  planted  ia 
love, 

By  a  mother's  hand,  tender  and  true. 
On  a  little  green  mound  in  the  churchyard  low, 

Neath  the  shade  of  the  dark  green  yew. 

Whatever  we  are  and  wherever  we're  placed, 

Has  been  done  by  God's  loving  hand  ; 
The  more  that  we  trust  Him,  the  more  He  will 
give. 
And  by  His  strong  grace  we  shall  stand. 

Joanna  McKean. 


AITlfT    LOUISA'S     GOLD     BEADS. 

CHAPTER  I. THE  BIRTHDAY  PARTY. 


TTIAN'NIE  BERKELEY  was  to  have  a 
J_  birthday  party,  only  it  was  to  be  in  the 
daytime  instead  of  the  evening.  Mrs.  Berkeley 
was  a  sensible,  old-fashioned  mother,  and  did 
not  approve  of  late  evening  parties  for  children, 
so  she  told  her  little  daughter  to  invite  her 
guests  to  come  in  the  afternoon.  She  might  ask 
the  whole  school  if  she  chose — fonr-and-twenty 
girls ;  they  could  stay  all  the  afternoon,  have 
tea,  and  after  tea  the  long  sleigh  should  be 
brought  out,  two  good  horses  harnessed,  with 
plenty  of  beUs,  and  Fannie  should  have  the 
felicity  of  escorting  each  guest  to  her  own  door. 

Surely  that  was  pleasure  enough  for  one 
day,  and  Fannie  was  wild  with  delight.  She 
danced  down  the  village  street,  swinging  her 
satchel  of  books  in  her  hand,  laughing  and 
nodding,  and  saying  '  Good  moruiug  '  to  every 
one  so  pleasantly,  that  one  old  gentleman  was 
heard  to  declare,  at  his  dinner-table  that  day, 
'  that  there  wasn't  such  a  sweet  face  in  all 
the  country-side  as  tliat  little  Berkeley  girl's.' 

She  burst  into  the  schoolroom  with  glowing 
cheeks  and  sparkling  eyes,  and  sat  down  to  her 
book  with  the  air  of  one  who  has  an  important 
state  secret  on  lier  mind. 

But  for  a  long  time  she  had  not  a  single 
chance  to  impart  lier  information  to  her  friends, 


for  school  was  opened  almost  immediately  after 
her  entrance,  and  lesson  after  lesson  followed  in 
regular  succession ;  so  that  she  had  only  time 
to  telegraph  to  Susie  Green,  her  dearest  friend, 
'  Something  good  is  going  to  happen!'  and  then 
she  rolled  her  eyes  up  to  the  celling  and  made 
signs  in  the  air  with  both  hands,  which  panto- 
mime Susie  60  far  understood  that  she  was 
enabled  to  jog  her  nearest  neighbour  and  go 
through  the  same  dumb  show.  The  result  was, 
that  in  a  few  minutes  every  girl  in  school  knew 
that  something  important  was  on  hand,  and 
something  '  not  very  bad  '  to  judge  by  Fannie's 
fluctuating  colour  and  bright  smile. 

Therefore,  no  one  was  very  much  surprised 
when,  after  the  '  ciphering '  was  over,  Fannie 
passed  her  slate  along  to  Susie. 

Miss  Berkeley  had,  with  great  care,  penned  a 
sort  of  general  invitation  to  the  whole  school, 
and  in  order  that  she  might  make  it  as  effective 
as  possible,  she  had  blossomed  out  into  verse. 
This  was  it : — 

'  3Iamma  saj-s  that  she  don't  lite 

Parties  as  a  rule, 
But  she's  willing  I  should  ask 

Every  girl  in  school ; 
So  I  ask  you,  very  hearty, 
Will  you  come  and  join  my  party  ? 


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303 


'  P.S. — It's  an  evening  party,  Tout  it's  going  to  te 
in  the  afternoon  ;  that  is,  it  begins  in  the  afternoon 
and  it  ends  about  bed-time.  I  couldn't  make  it  all 
rhyme,  so  I  had  to  put  it  in  a  postscript. 

'  Your  affectionate,  F.  B.' 

This  effusion  was  passed  through  the  whole 
school,  and  every  face  was  radiant.  Each  child 
thought,  '  That's  just  like  Fan  I  she  don't  shght 
anybody ;  she's  just  splendid  I  And  she  can 
write  poetry,   too  I ' 

And  Faimie's  credit  rose  higher  than  ever. 
Some  of  the  girls  broke  through  all  rules,  and 
whispered,  '  Goody  1  I'll  come  —  what'll  you 
wear  '?  Isn't  her  mother  good  ?  '  Some,  with 
clearer  ideas  of  right,  who  wouldn't  talk  in 
study  hours  for  the  world,  winked  and  nodded, 
■which  freemasonry  was  at  once  understood  as 
flu  acceptance. 

There  was  a  perfect  epidemic  of  fidgets, 
hastily  executed  sums,  suppressed  coughs  and 
little  ripples  of  smiles,  however,  in  spite  of 
these  clear  ideas  of  right,  which  reached  even 
such  incorruptible  little  souls  as  Susie  Green 
and  May  Durrie,  both  of  whom  resolutel5' 
scratched  away  on  their  slates,  a  frown  upon 
their  pretty  brows,  but  a  smile  that  would  come 
and  go  upon  their  lijis. 

It  seemed  to  all  the  four-and-twenty  girls  that 
the  afternoon  would  never  come,  and  the  more 
tliey  tried  to  fasten  their  ideas  upon  their  studies 
the  more  their  ideas  wandered. 

The  little  murmuring  sound  of  recitation  was 
not  soothing  to  their  disquieted  souls  as  usual, 
and  there  was  such  a  thorough  brightening  up 
after  the  depressing  season  of  arithmetic,  that 
Miss  Jones,  the  teacher,  asked  to  see  the  un- 
fortunate slate  which  had  caused  such  an  entire 
conversion  of  the  whole  rank  and  file,  and  poor 
Fannie,  with  burning  cheeks,  slowly  handed 
up  her  production. 

'  Wasn't  she  kind  ? '  Fannie  said  afterwards  to 
Jier  mother ;  '  she  only  smiled  and  said,  "  A 
poetess!  H-m-m — Mayn't  I  come  to  the 
party,  too  ?  "  And  I  shouldn't  wonder  a  bit, 
mother,  if  she  did.  But  I  don't  quite  like  the 
idea  of  being  called  a  poetess — tliat  is — yet,^  she 
added. 

'  I  don't  believe  I  would  trouble  my  little 
head  about  that  part  of  it,'  said  Mrs.  Berkeley. 
'  I  should  much  rather  have  you  think  of  birth- 
day parties  just  now.' 


CHAPTER  II. THE  MOORISH  BEADS. 

That  night  in  twenty  hom.es  there  was  much 
chattering  and  anticipation,  for,  as  every  one  said, 
'  Oiie  was  sure  of  a  good  time  at  Mrs.  Berkeley's.' 

Susie  Green  was  the  only  one  out  of  the 
number  invited  wlio  had  any  doubts  about  it. 
In  the  first  place  her  mother  had  been  an  invalid 
some  time,  and  had  not  been  able  to  put  Susie's- 
wardrobe  in  thorough  order.  The  child  had 
plenty  of  good  school  dresses,  but  nothing  quite 
nice  enough  for  a  party. 

'  Nothing  btit  my  old  white  Marseilles  1 '' 
mourned  Sue,  despondently ;  '  every  girl  knows- 
it  a  mile  off  I ' 

'  Wear  your  blue  Garibaldi  jacket,  dear.' 
suggested  the  pale  little  mother ;  '  it  will  look 
very  pretty  with  your  white  skirt,  blue  sash, 
blue  stockings,  and  your  curls  tied  with  a  new- 
blue  ribbon.' 

'  Vanity  of  vanities  I '  commented  Aunt 
Louisa,  curtly,  looking  up  from  her  stooldng- 
basket,  and  severely  eyeing  the  dissatisfied: 
child  over  her  gold-bound  spectacles.  '  In  my 
time  little  girls  weren't  allowed  to  have  parties 
and  fol-de-rols,  and  wear  white  dresses,  and 
sashes,  and  bows,  and  be  young  ladies  before 
they  fairly  knew  what  it  was  to  be  children. 
You  ai'e  spoiling  her,  Maria,  depend  upon  it. 
What  does  she  Iniow  now  about  "  the  ornament 
of  a  meek  and  quiet  spirit  ?  "  I  dare  say  she 
thinks  it  is  a  blue  sash.' 

'  Oh,  Aunt  Louisa  1  didn't  you  ever  go  out 
and  have  fun  when  you  were  a  little  thing  V  ' 
said  Susie,  half  ready  to  cry.  And  then  mother, 
thus  solemnly  abjured,  ventured  as  near  to  a  re- 
monstrance ■with  Aunt  Louisa  as  it  was  possible 
for  so  meek  a  little  woman  to  venture. 

'  I  hope,  Louisa,  I  have  tried  to  do  my  duty 
to  my  child.  She  has  not  many  pleasures  :  I 
trust  she  is  not  vain,  and  a  good  play  with  other 
children  can  do  her  no  harm  that  I  see.  Mrs. 
Berkeley  is  too  judiciotis  a  mother  to  allow 
Fannie  anything  but  a  plain  little  afternoon 
party ;  and,  my  dear,'  speaking  more  decidedly 
to  Susie,  '  I  think  your  blue  jacket  and  white 
skirt  quite  good  enough  to  wear.  I  shall  get 
you  nothing  new  but  the  hair  ribbon,  and  with 
that  you  must  be  content.  You  will  find,  \\\\bi\ 
you  get  there,  that  the  party  is  made  for  your 
enjoyment,  and  not  to  show  off  fine  dress.' 
{To  he  continued.) 


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MiMfllliiM 


The  Unfortunate  Slate. 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


305 


"  She  let  the  child  place  the  beads  ahout  her  throat." 


S06 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


AUNT  LOUISA'S   GOLD  BEADS. 

{Continued  from  page  303.) 

NEVEKTHELESS,  Susie  Avas  a  little  low 
in  spirits,  and  ventured  to  ask  Fannie, 
tlie  next  day,  what  she  was  going  to  wear,  and 
•was  mucli  relieved  to  hear, — 

'  Oh,  I  don't  know ;  my  brown  merino,  I 
guess,  with  a  plaid  sash, — anything's  good 
enough.  We're  going  to  have  fun,  and  mother 
■does  not  lilve  dress-up  parties.  Wear  your  browTi 
merino,  lilce  mine.' 

'  No,'  said  Susie,  briglitening  up  considerably ; 
'  my  mother  says  I  can  wear  my  white  Mar- 
seilles skirt  and  blue  flannel  jacket.' 

'  AH  right,'  agreed  '  Faimie.  '  You'U  look 
nice  enough  any  way.  You  always  are  as  neat 
as  a  little  doll,  no  matter  what  you  wear ;  onlj' 
don't  be  too  smart.  I  meant  to  have  put  in  my 
invitations  that  we  were  none  of  us  to  dress  very 
much ;  but  I  couldn't  make  poetry  of  it.'  And 
she  laughed  merrily. 

'  Are  you  going  to  have  bovs  ? '  queried 
Sue. 

'  Not  a  boy  I '  responded  Fannie,  emphatically ; 
'  they're  always  in  the  way.  But  my  two 
brothers,  if  we  want  them,  say  they'U  take  us 
coasting  do\\Ti-hill.  But  perhaps  we'U  like 
playing  "  visiting  "  best.  I've  got  three  new 
dolls,  and  we  can  have  fun  enough  in  the  house, 
I  think ;  don't  you  ?  ' 

'  Oh,  of  course ; '  and  Susie  turned  towards 
home  with  a  decided  weight  lifted  off  her  heart. 
The  blue  jacket  would  be  good  enough ;  quite 
as  good  as  Fannie's  brown  merino,  that  she 
had  worn  for  two  whole  winters.  But  on  her 
way  home  she  met  JVIay  Dunie. 

'  I've  got  a  new  dress  for  Fannie's  party,' 
May  began  as  soon  as  she  approached  within 
speaking  distance ;  '  a  new  plaid  poplin,  a  real 
Stuart  plaid  my  mother  called  it.  What  have 
you  got '? ' 

'  Nothing ;  I  must  wear  my  white  skirt  and 
blue  flannel  jacket,  or  stay  at  home,'  confessed 
Sue,  with  a  sudden  feeling  as  of  a  wet  blanket 
around  her ;  and  May,  mth  a  sympathising 
'  It's  too  bad  I '  went  on  her  way. 

'  If  she  had  only  kept  quiet,'  mused  Susie  to 
herself,  '  I  shouldn't  have  cared  so  much.  She's 
as  proud  as  she  can  be.' 

But    May    wasn't    proud   a  bit.     She    was 


simply  glad  that  she  was  going  to  have  a  new 
dress ;  and  Susie,  like  every  child  who  yields  to 
one  bad  impidse,  had  soon  made  room  for 
another.  In  the  first  place,  it  was  she  who  had 
pride  about  her  dress,  and  now  she  was  actually 
envious.  She  would  have  been  shocked  had 
any  one  told  her  this.  She  felt  quite  an  in- 
jured little  person  when  she  walked  into  her 
mother's  pleasant  sitting-room,  and  sat  down 
morosely  by  the  -window,  pretending  to  be  very 
much  interested  with  something  outside,  so  that 
her  mother  might  not  talk  to  her. 

Aimt  Louisa  was  sorting  over  some  things 
in  an  old-fashioned  box,  and  she  and  jNIrs. 
Green  would  now  and  again  stoop  over  some 
little  article  and  have  a  talk  about  it. 

'  I  declare,  Maria,'  Aunt  Louisa  was  saying, 
'  here  are  all  these  nice  little  things  of  grand- 
mother's that  we  haven't  looked  at  in  such  a 
long  time,  it  seems  a  real  pleasure  to  see  them 
again.  Just  look  at  the  heavy  gold  spectacles, 
and  the  beads,  these  precious  Moorish  beads  she 
used  to  wear.  Dear  me  I  can't  you  see  her  now, 
sitting  in  her  large  stuffed  chair,  by  the  fire, 
with  her  knitting  ?  We  used  to  think  she  looked, 
so  sweet  AAdth  her  white  kerchief  folded  so 
neatly,  and  these  gold  beads  about  her  neck. 
And  grandmother  Avas  a  sweet  woman,  and 
didn't  laiow  what  vanity  was.  Well,  well,  and 
/  wouldn't  wear  a  gold  bead  or  a  chain  round 
my  neck  for  anything.  It  would  be  a  real  sin 
for  me  to  put  on  ornaments,  as  I  feel  now  ;'  and 
Aunt  Louisa  looked  very  gloomily  at  the  quaint 
carvings  on  the  old  beads,  as  she  slipped  them, 
one  by  one,  over  her  fingers. 

Susie  turned  round  with  sudden  interest. 
'  Oh,  Aunt  Louisa  I '  under  her  breath,  '  do,  do 
give  them  to  me  I  Aren't  they  beautiful '? 
Did  vii/  great-grandmother  really  wear  them '? ' 
giving  httle  oh's  and  all's  of  dehght  as  she 
fluttered  over  the  ancient  box,  and  held  out  ad- 
miring hands  for  the  trinkets. 

For  a  wonder.  Aunt  Louisa  was  genial  to- 
day. She  let  the  child  place  the  beads  about 
her  own  fair  throat,  and  watched  her  wth  a 
smile  as  she  danced  before  the  mirror,  an- 
swering all  her  questions,  and  throwing  in  a 
maxim  or  a  sage  word  of  advice  whenever 
occasion  offered,  imtil  Susie  had  the  audacity  to 
propound  her  this  question  : 

'  Auntie,  do  give  me  the  beads — won't  you  ? 


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307 


1  want  to  wear  them  to  Fannie  Berkeley's — do — 
and  I'll  be  so  good — oil  I  do,  do — I  want  the 
girls  to  open  their  eyes  I ' 

'  I  think  they  will  open  'em — wide,  too, 
when  they  see  yon  with  your  great  grand- 
mother's gold  heads  on  at  any  party.'  And 
Annt  Louisa  swept  the  chain  into  the  box,  and 
popped  it  into  the  bureau  drawer,  as  if  she 
had  just  caught  and  caged  a  roaring  lion. 

'  'That  child  is  just  eaten  up  with  pride, 
Maria,'  she  said  solemnly.  '  But  you  know 
what  it  says  in  the  Bible,  "  Pride  goeth  before 
destruction,  and  a  haughty  spirit  before  a  fall." 
She'll  have  to  have  her  fall ;  mind  what  I  say,' 
and  she  left  the  room. 

Snsie  was  very  uncomfortable.  It  seemed  as 
if  everything  combined  to  make  her  unhappy 
lately,  when  she  wanted  only  to  have  a  good 
time.  She  did  not  stop  to  think  that  the  fault 
lay  within  her  o\vn  breast,  and,  had  she  been 
contented,  she  would  have  been  very  happy. 
Pride,  envy,  discontent;  these  are  bad  guests 
for  a  child  to  entertain,  and  the  worst  of  it  is, 
when  they  come  they  always  bring  a  host  of 
relations  and  friends  with  them. 
(To  he  continued.) 


OUR   PRINCESSES'    DINNER- 
PARTIES. 

THE  Queen  has  a  seaside  residence  near 
Cowes  in  the  Isle  of  Wight,  called  Osborne 
House.  There  are  nice  gardens  round  this 
house,  and  when  our  princesses  were  little  girls 
they  each  had  gardens  of  their  own,  in  which 
they  worked,  and  grew  not  only  pretty  flowers, 
but  useful  vegetables  too,  such  as  potatoes,  and 
peas,  and  cabbages.  Then,  near  these  gardens 
there  was  a  little  house,  which  only  the  royal 
children  entered,  and  where  there  was  a  real 
kitchen  where  they  might  cook  and  do  just  as 
they  liked. 

Sometimes  the  children  would  give  a  dinner- 
party, and  invite  the  Queen.  How  hard  they 
must  have  had  to  work,  for  you  know  they  had 
everything  to  do.  They  had  to  lay  the  cloth,  and 
dig  the  vegetables,  and  fetch  tlie  water  to  wash 
and  boil  them  in ;  and  then  to  light  the  fire,  cook 
the  dinner,  and  dish  it  up,  and  then  to  eat  it,  aud 
worst  of  all,  to  wash  up  everything  afterwards. 
'  Great  Britain  for  Little  Britons' 


RAGAMUFFIN    TOM. 

{Continued  from  2mgc  301.) 

AT  last  the  owner  of  the  village  shop  opened 
.  his  door,  and  coming  out,  began  to  take 
down  the  shutters  from  the  windows.  Tom 
went  up  to  him  and  asked  for  a  small  loaf  of 
bread,  enteruig  the  shop  at  the  same  time,  and 
glancing  round  to  see  if  there  were  any  writing- 
materials  to  be  had ;  there  were  some  on  a  shelf 
behind  the  counter.  When  Tom  asked  to  look 
at  them  the  shopman  was  greatly  surprised, 
and  asked  many  curious  questions  as  to  what  a 
lad  like  Tom  wanted  them  for,  and  concluded 
by  supposing  he  wished  to  write  to  his  mothei-. 
Tom  answered  cheerfully,  but  keeping  well  his 
own  counsel,  and  departed  carrying  off  pen,  ink, 
and  two  sheets  of  paper,  in  case  he  spoiled  the 
first. 

It  was  no  easy  matter  to  write  sitting  under  a 
hedge,  and  with  nothing  more  solid  for  a  desk 
than  a  basket,  over  which  was  spread  a  jacket ; 
however,  at  last  the  note  was  completed,  when 
Tom  remembered  that  he  had  not  bought  an 
envelope.  He  did  not  like  to  return  to  tl>e  shop 
and  encounter  another  shower  of  questions  from 
the  man  there,  so,  folding  the  paper  as  best  he 
could,  he  hastened  to 
Mrs.  Knox's  house  and  -'  _^ 

dropped  his  note  into  the 
letter-box. 

Having  thus 
done  his  part  to- 
wards giving 
the  household 
warning,  Tom 
made  the  best 
of  his  way  to 


''/I 


/L;.-  /v-^'* 


'■>:,. 


"Oi 


\ 


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Sunday  Reading  ior  the  Young. 


tlie  railway  station,  eating  his  tread  as  lie  went 
along,  and  taking  a  farewell  look  at  the  trees 
and  flowers  he  had  learnt  to  love  so  well.  He 
arrived  just  in  time  for  the  train,  and  was  soon 
whirling  along  towards  home. 

CHAPTER  sir. WALNUT-TREE  FARM. 

Breakfast  was   almost   ready   at  "VValnut- 
tree  Fann.     Kate  was  busy  cutting  thin  slices 


Just  then  Mr.  Knox  entered,  and,  instantly 
catching  up  the  frolicsome  urn,  canied  it  out  of 
the  room  and  into  the  kitchen.* 

'  It  was  not  safe,'  he  said  on  his  return.  '  In 
a  moment  or  two  more  it  would  have  burst ;  the 
heater  was  over -hot,  and  there  was  not  escape 
enough  for  the  steam.' 

Aunt  Susan  soon  came  in.  No  one  would 
have  recognised  the  Aunt  Susan  of  a  year  ago. 


of  bread  and  [butter  for  her  aunt,  while  Meggie 
was  going  to  make  the  tea  with  hot  water  from 
the  urn  which  the  servant  had  just  brought  in 
and  placed  on  the  table. 

The  water  in  it  was  boiling  so  thoroughly 
that  the  urn  could  not  remain  standing  quiet 
and  stately,  as  a  respectable  family  urn  ought 
to  do,  but  spluttered  out  drops  of  intensely  hot 
water. 

'  How  funny  the  um  is,  Meg  ! '  said  Kate  ;  '  it 
looks  like  a  thing  possessed.  Do  look  at  it  now  I 
How  it  hisses  and  iuniDs  1 ' 


Notwithstanding  her  ill-temper  and  fault-finding 
there  had  been  some  likeness  to  her  sweet  sister 
Lucy.  This  likeness  was  more  apparent  now, 
for  the  jieevish  expression  had  gone  and  a  gentle 
one  taken  its  place.  She  had  not  yet  recovei-ed 
from  the  effects  of  the  shock.  She  was  glad  to 
have  her  two  helpful  nieces  with  her  during 
their  summer  holidays. 

The  room  in  which  the  breakfast  party  were 
seated  was  prim  and  old-fashioned. 

Margaret  and  Kate  had  tried  to  deck  it  out, 
but  nothing  made  it  bright  and  cheerful.    There 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


309- 


was  no  place  on  which  to  put  a  vase  of  flowers, 
for  the  old-fashioned  chimney-piece  was  too 
hio-h  and  narrow,  and  [the  table  was  always  in 
reqxiest  for  meals  or  needlework,  so  that  a  vase 
of  flowers  would  have  been  perpetually  in  the 
way,  according  to  IMrs.  Knox's  still  somewhat 
formal  ideas. 

Just  then  the  postman  appeared,  and  off  flew 
Kate  to  the  front  door  to  take  in  the  letters.  As 
she  was  turning  away  she  caught  sight  of  the 
letter-box,  and  through  the  glass  at  the  back 


Kate,  attracted  the  attention  of  the  others  ;  and 
Mr.  Knox,  taking  the  note  from  his  wife's  trem- 
bling hand,  read  it  out  as  follows  : — 

'  Ma'am, — Your  house  is  to  be  broke  into  to- 
night I  send  tliis  warning  dont  try  to  find  me  out 
nor  say  anything  about  this  it  would  harm  me  and 
not  help  you  but  look  out. 

'  YouE  Well  Wisher.' 

•  Don't  be  alarmed,'  said  Mr.  Knox.  '  It  is  a 
funi\y  note,   and  the  writer  is  sadly  oblivious  of 


she  saw  Tom's  note.  It  had  very  nearly  re- 
mained where  he  had  dropped  it  in  the  early 
morning,  for,  the  hall-door  being  open,  Kate 
had  taken  the  letters  and  newspapers  from  the 
postman's  hand. 

Tom's  was  a  funny-looking  little  note,  and 
hardly  seemed  woi-th  taking  in ;  fortunatel)', 
however,  Kate  did  so,  saying,  '  Here  is  one 
letter  only  for  you,  aunt.     It  looks  like  a  bill.' 

Mrs.  Knox  took  it,  and  on  opening  it  turned 
60  pale  that  it  almost  seemed  as  though  there  was 
to  be  a  repetition  of  the  fainting  fit  of  last  year. 

'  Oh,  Aimt  Susan  1  what  is  the  matter'?'   from 


stops  !  Perhaps  there  is  nothing  in  it,  and  the 
note  a  mere  hoax.  However,  Ave  xoill  look  otrt 
and  search  for  any  susjiicious  characters  there 
may  be  lurking  about.  It  is  strange  that  you 
should  have  had  two  anonymous  communica- 
tions. One  might  almost  fancy  that  they  were 
from  the  same  quarter  ! ' 

While  Mr.  Knox  was  thus  unconsciously 
guessing  the  exact  truth,  two  men  were  lounging 
along  the  road  and  slowly  making  their  way 
towards  the  house.  They  stopped  at  the  garden 
gate,  one  of  them  leaning  over  and  smoking  a 
short  pip?,  while  the  other  went  up  to  the  house. 


310 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


•fust  as  lie  appvoaclied  the  hall-door  Mr.  Knox 
taught  sight  of  liim. 

'  Now,  my  good  fellow,'  he  said,  speaking 
through  the  open  window,  '  what  are  you 
doing  here  '?     We  want  no  idlers  ahout.' 

'Don't  be  hard  on  an  honest,  hard-worldng 
man,  sir  1' 

'  Hard-working  !  Yes,'  replied  Mr.  Knox, 
glancing  at  the  man's  hand ;  '  hard-labour,  no 
doubt,  you  have  had  lately,  but  unless  you  want 
some  more  of  the  same  sort  you  had  better  be 
off  at  once  I ' 

The  man  scowled,  and  turned  away,  muttering 
something  about  a  starving  wife  and  children. 
j\lr.  Knox  watched  him  until  he  joined  his 
companion,  and  they  went  off  together. 

'  I  own  I  do  not  like  the  '  look  of  those 
fellows,'  said  he.  '  Their  presence  and  appearance 
make  me  much  more  inclined  to  put  faith  in  your 
lui known  correspondent  than  I  have  done,  and  wo 
will  certainly  take  precautions.  Forewarned, 
forearmed,  so  do  not  fear  1 ' 

Mr.  Knox  considted  with  his  bailiff  as  to  the 
best  course  to  pursue,  and  they  decided  to 
telegraph  up  to  town  for  a  detective.  In  due 
time  he  appeared,  accompanied  by  two  other 
policemen  in  plain  clothes.  They  were  soon  on. 
the  track  of  the  two  tramps,  who  were  well  Iniown 
to  the  police,  and  for  whom  they  had  been 
seeking  in  order  to  prosecute  them  for  a  robbery 
with  violence  which  they  had  lately  committed. 
They  were  soon  captured,  handcuii'ed,  and  car- 
ried off  by  train  to  London,  where  in  course  of 
time  they  were  tried  for  the  offence  they  had 
committed.  (To  he  continued.) 


THE    MINISTRY    OP    AWGELS. 

Millions  of  spiritual  beings  walk  the  earth 
Unseen.,  both  when  we  wake  and  when  we  sleep. 


EVERYBODY'S    CORNER. 

THE  TWO   SCRIBES. 

ABOUT  the  time  when  Jesus  was  born  into 
the  world  the  greatest  men  of  the  sect  of 
the  Scribes  were  two,  named  Hillel  and  Shammai, 
and  they  were  the  great  scholars  and  teachers  of 
the  age. 

Shammai  was  stern,  severe,  and  scrupulously 


rigid;  Hillel  was  more  liberal-minded,  even  as  he- 
was  more  lovable  in  himself. 

A  story  related  of  them  illustrates  at  once  their 
teaching  and  their  character. 

A  student  came  to  Shammai  and  asked  him, 
with  quaint  expression,  to  give  him  some  instruc- 
tion in  the  law,  if  '  only  for  as  long  as  he,  the 
learner,  could  stand  on  one  foot.'  The  learned 
scribe  drove  him  from  him  in  anger ;  and  the 
inquirer  then  went  to  Hillel  with  the  same  request,, 
who  received  him  with  cjuiet  dignity,  gave  him 
one  precept,  which  is  almost  exactly  the  great 
commandment  of  the  Bible.  '  Do  nothing  to  thy 
neighbour  that  thou  wouldest  not  that  he  shoidd 
do  to  thee ;'  and  then  added,  '  Do  this,  and  thou. 
hast  kept  all  the  law  and  the  prophets.' 


THE    STAR. 


CROSS  the  boggy  common  the- 

way  is  very  rough,  go  whiclr 

way   yon   will,  and  though 

of  a  strong  constitution,  even. 

for  a  donkey,  I  am  not  very 

firm    on    my   fore-legs  —  in 

fact,  I  am  rather  apt  to  stumble 

amongst  the  stones ;  so  I  generally 

look  at  tliem,  and  attend  to  what  I 

am  about,  rather  than  cast  my  eyes 

up  to  the  skies. 

We,  that  is  to  say  the  mother,. 
little  Mary,  George,  and  I,  were 
plodding  along,  wearily  enough,  for  we  had  had 
a  hard  day's  work,  and  the  weather  was  un- 
usually warm ;  however,  the  sun  was  setting,  and 
so  it  would  soon  become  cooler. 

Suddenly  little  Mary  called  out,  '  Oh,  mother, 
look  at  the  evening  star  I  how  early  it  has  come 
to-night  I  How  it  t\'\-inkles,  and  liow  bright  it 
looks  near  that  pretty  pink  cloud  1  I  wonder 
what  the  star  can  be  '?' 

'  Ha  !  ha  I  ha  1 '  laughed  George  (my  especial 
aversion,  for  he  has  the  knack  of  finding  out  my 
weak  jjoints,  and  always  makes  nre  trot,  whether 
I  wish  it  or  not ;  and  I  seldom  do  wish  to  trot, 
for  I  am  desponding  and  unexcitable  by  nature),. 
'Hal  ha  I  hal'  continued  he;  'what  a  stupid 
Uttle  thing  you  are  I  Don't  you  know  that  there 
is  clockwork  inside,  and  that  the  old  man  m  the 
moon  winds  it  up  once  a-month?' 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


311 


'  OL,  George  I  are  you  sure  of  that?'  said  little 
IMary,  doubtfully;  '  do  you  really  think  it  is 
•clockwork  ?  for  Nanny  said  the  old  man  sweeps 
the  cobwebs  out  of  the  sky  to  make  the  moon 
shine  bright ;  and  if  there  had  been  clockwork, 
the  broom  would  have  spoilt  it,  and  then  the  star 
would  have  gone  out.  /  think  it  must  be  a 
•diamond  or  a  very  bright  piece  of  coal.  What 
<lo  yoii  say,  mother?  ' 

'  \Yell,  my  dears,'  said  mother,  '  clever  folks 
.say  that  it  is  a  world  just  like  ours,  with  land  and 
water,  trees,  and  jseople,  who  have  their  joys  and 
sorrows,  just  as  we  have.  Be  that  as  it  may,  all 
I  Imow  is  that  it  was  made  by  our  good  and 
liind  Heavenly  Father,  and  that  many  and  many 
a  time  has  its  bright  sparkling  light  cheered 
father  and  me,  and  perhaps  our  good  donkey 
liere,  when  we  have  been  travelling  at  night,  not 
•only  over  this  bog,  but  amongst  the  wild  hills 
that  are  so  dangerous  in  the  dark.  So  I  love 
•rthe  beautiful,  shining  little  tiling,  and  often,  when 
I  am  sadly  weary,  and  my  heart  sorely  troubled, 
I  look  up  at  the  star,  and  its  pure  bright  light 
brings  peace  into  my  soul.' 

I  was  so  much  pleased  with  this  nice  speech 
•of  the  dear  good  mother,  that  I  at  once  ex- 
pressed my  approbation  by  a  loud  and  sustained 
bray,  received  I  regret  to  say  by  a  roar  of 
Jaughter  from  my  young  companions,  though 
they  patted  me  all  the  time,  and  even  kissed  the 
tip  of  my  nose.  I  cannot  think  why  they  always 
laugh  and  cover  their  cars  whenever  I  speak. 
My  voice  may  not,  strictly  speaking,  Jbe  very 
musical,  but  I  flatter  myself  it  is  expressive,  and 
expression  is  a  very  important  point.  I  fear 
ithat  children  are  by  nature  rude  creatures,  and 
I  very  much  doubt  whether  I  like  them.  No,  I 
have  reflected  and  am  sure  about  it ;  \  do  not 
like  them. 

On  that  occasion  I  was  so  irritated  and  hurt 
that  my  feelings  should  have  been  so  little 
understood,  that  I  eased  my  mind  by  kicking 
•out  at  George,  though,  of  course,  I  would  not  have 
hurt  him  for  the  world. 

'  Quiet,  Jack  I  quiet,  Lizl'  cried  George;  '  who 
Avould  have  thought  our  donkey  could  have  been 
so  vicious?'  and  as  he  spoke,  he  roughly  applied 
a  stick  to  my  back.  This  disagreeable  pi'o- 
■cceding  made  me  still  more  angry.  I  determined 
to  have  my  revenge,  therefore,  at  the  first  con- 
venient hole,  I  stumbled,  came  down  on  my  nose. 


and  out  rolled  all  the  contents  of  the  panniers  on 
to  the  common. 

I  was  so  cross  that  I  felt  quite  pleased  that 
my  companions,  tired  as  they  were,  should  have 
the  trouble  of  finding  and  replacing  all  the 
various  articles.  This  took  at  least  ten  minutes, 
and  I  could  not  help  feeling  sorrj'when  I  heard 
poor  mother  sigh,  and  say  how  her  back  ached 
with  stooping. 

I  was  still  more  ashamed  when,  instead  of 
being  angry  mth  me,  she  kindly  felt  my  legs 
and  patted  me,  saying  softly,  '  Poor  old  Jack  1 
poor  fellow  !     I  am  afraid  he  is  hurt  I ' 

The  children,  too,  instead  of  being  ill-tempered, 
only  laughed  as  they  chased  some  of  the  rolling 
packages.  I  think,  therefore,  I  had  the  worst 
of  my  little  manojuvre,  for  when  I  got  under 
way  again  I  found  that  my  knees  were  stiffer 
than  evei',  and  that  my  nose  had  received  more 
scratches  than  I  had  intended. 

Perhaps,  after  all,  it  is  better  not  to  give  way 
to  bad  temper,  and  not  to  take  offence  at  trifles. 

At  last  we  arrived  at  the  cottage.  Father 
had  come  home  from  work,  and  was  waiting 
at  the  door  to  receive  us.  The  fire  had  been 
lighted  and  supper  Avas  ready.  Then  every 
one  helped  to  unload  the  pack,  and  all  the  things 
that  had  been  brought  from  the  little  town  were 
looked  at  and  admired.  Then  the  children  were 
kissed,  and  I  was  praised,  and  my  aching  back 
relieved  from  its  burden.  The  little  ones  hurried 
to  their  steaming  basins  of  bread  and  milk,  while 
I  hastened  to  a  patch  of  thistles,  where  I  made  a 
delicious  supper. 

Dear  little  Mary,  however,  did  not  let  me  go 
until  she  had  passed  her  tiny  hand  gently  over 
my  rough  face,  saying  in  her  soft,  pitying  voice, 
'  Poor,  dear  old  Jack  I  I  am  afraid  you  must  have 
hurt  yourself  in  that  naughty  hole  '.' 

How  much  it  eases  life's  hardships  to  love  and 
be  loved  1 

By  this  time  the  sun  had  sunk  below  the  low, 
dark  line  of  distant  hills.  A  few  streaks  of 
crimson  glory  alone  marked  where  he  had  been, 
but  high  above  in  the  deep  blue  .firmament  the 
star  was  shining  in  its  tranquil  beauty. 

Its  pure  light  s]3oke  of  peace  and  rest,  and  its 
gentle  radiance  fell  alike  upon  the  little  children 
sleeping  in  their  beds,  and  upon  the  poor  donkey 
who  sought  his  resting  -  place  amongst  the 
thistles  and  weeds  by  the  roadside. 


312 


Su.wAY  Reading  for  the  Young. 


Across  the  Common. 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Youag. 


313 


m-  M 


314 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


THE  LADY  UNA. 

AM  going  to  play  at  "  Beauty 

and  the  Beast,"  and  you  shall 

be  my  dear  attendant  if  you 

are  good,  Gelert.'     So  spake 

the  little  Lady  Diana  Ulver- 

stone,  as  she  tripped  lightly 

down   the    staircase    of    her 

father's  mansion. 

She  was  indeed  the  picture  of 

a  little  English  lady,  dressed  in 

her  pretty  little  garden  costume, 

with  a  big  whip  to  keep  Gelert  in 

order. 

He,  of  course,  was  devoted  to 
his  little  mistress ;  was  never  so 
happy  as  when  she  condescended 
to  play  with  him,  or  talk  to  him, 
and  tell  hun  fairj'  stories  for  his 
especial  benefit.  Not  that  he  could 
answer  her  in  words  :  no  ;  he  was  only  a  dog  ; 
hut  he  understood  all  she  said,  none  the  less  for 
that.  And  then,  how  he  watched  over  her  I 
She  was  quite  safe  as  long  as  Gelert  was  in 
attendance. 

'  Now,  sir,  you  must  wait  for  me  here,  in  the 
hall ;  do  you  hear,  sir  ?  Sit  there  and  mind 
my  parasol  I '  and  the  little  lady  went  into  the 
morning-room  to  fetch  a  book  of  pictures. 

'  Now,  Gelert,  you  shall  be  the  Lion,  and  I  am 
Una  ;  and  we  will  go  ou  to  the  lawn  and  see 
what  they  say  to  us.  Now,  he  quiet,  sir,  and 
look  at  me.  There  1  that's  beautiful  I  Now,  if 
you  do  it  like  that  when  they  are  all  looldng,  it 
will  be  grand.'  And  the  little  woman  took  his 
great  shaggy  head  in  her  hands,  and  kissed  the 
honest,  loving  face,  which  was  as  much  to 
Gelert  as  an  extra  bone  for  his  dinner. 

But  once  on  the  lawn  with  his  little  mistress, 
Gelert  cotdd  no  more  keep  still  and  be  a  lion 
than  the  birds  could  cease  singing  in  the  bright 
sunshine  of  heaven. 

It  was  play,  play — all  play ;  until  Lady  Una 
was  obliged  to  crack  her  whip  at  him  in  mock 
anger,  and  lead  him  off  for  a  sedate  walk  rormd 
the  grounds  and  shrubberies. 


SELP-PBAISE. 

He  whose  own  worth  doth  speak,  need  not 
speak  his  own  worth. 


aAGAMUPPIIir    TOM. 

(Continued  from  p.  310.) 
CHAPTER  Xni. TOm's  EBTUEN. 

T03I  was  received  with  a  somewhat  stormy 
welcome  by  Mrs.  Jliddleborough,  for  she 
had,  as  a  matter  of  com-se,  been  very  anxious  at  his 
absence,  wondeiing  where  he  could  i^ossibly  he, 
and  dreading  every  moment  to  hear  that  he  had 
been  run  over  and  carried  to  a  hospital.  When 
nearly  a  week  had  elapsed,  and  no  Tom  appeared, 
she  gave  up  all  hope  of  seeing  him  again,  and 
thought  he  must  have  deserted  her.  She  missed 
his  help  in  her  morning  and  evening  work 
more  and  more,  as  she  became  daily  more  tired 
with  carrying  water  and  coal — labours  Tom  had 
relieved  her  from  for  many  a  day.  When, 
therefore,  he  reappeared  one  evening  at  his  usual 
hour,  looking  in  the  most  robust  health,  instead 
of  an  invalid  recovering  from  hosisital  treatment, 
her  feehngs  were  of  a  mixed  character,  and  she 
scolded  and  embraced  him  by  turns. 

He  presented  her  with  sis  ncAV-laid  eggs, 
which  he  had  boiTght  on  his  way  to  the  station 
in  the  morning,  and  thus  appeased  her  by  no 
means  serious  anger.  Great  indeed  was  Mrs. 
Middleborough's  indignation  when  she  heard  of 
his  having  been  given  in  charge  by  the  elderly 
gentleman.  Tom,  however,  felt  almost  grateful 
to  him  now  as  liaving  been  the  means  of  sending 
him  into  the  country,  and  thus  enabling  him  to 
be  of  service  to  his  kind  friends  the  Lucases : 
he  did  not  yet  think  of  Mrs.  Knox  in  that  light. 

Tom  had  felt  not  a  little  anxious  as  to  his  re- 
ception at  the  night-school.  He  found  that  Mr. 
Ross  knew  something  about  the  street  I'ow,  for 
on  the  evening  of  his  disappearance  he  had 
remarked  on  the  unusual  circumstance  of  his 
absence,  and  after  a  brief  silence  Bob  stood  up 
and  said  that  he  and  Jim  had  seen  their  school- 
fellow taken  up  for  fighting ;  but  they  declared 
that  they  could  give  no  particulars,  as  they  were 
not  very  near — only  '  lool^ing  on  like.' 

Jlr.  Ross  conld  get  no  more  out  of  the  hoys, 
who  pretended  that  they  had  even  forgotten  the 
name  of  the  street  where  the  fight  took  place  ;  he 
felt  he  conld  do  nothing  for  the  present.  He 
did  not  believe  that  Bob  and  Jim  were  telling 
the  truth.  Init  as  no  questions  could  draw  any- 
thing more  from  them  he  was  obliged  to  drop 
the  subject.     When,  at  the  end  of  a  week,  Tom 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


815- 


presented  liimself,  looking  particularly  well  and 
in  excellent  spirits,  Mr.  Eoss  was  not  a  little 
taken  atack,  and  as  mncli  surprised  as  Mrs. 
Middleborougli  had  been. 

He  asked  no  questions  till  school  was  over, 
wlieu  he  called  Tom  to  him,  and,  after  telling 
him  what  he  had  heard,  asked  for  an  ex- 
planation. Tom  told  him  everything  except 
liis  former  acquaintance  with  the  Knox  family. 

Mr.  Eoss  commended  him  for  warning  the 
latter  of  the  intended  burglary,  and  said  he 
had  perhaps  been  wise  not  to  put  any  name  to 
the  note,  as  it  might  involve  him  in  some  trouble 
•with  the  men,  who,  he  hope<l,  would  be  caught 
and  punished. 

A  few  days  after,  he  showed  Tom  a  para- 
graph in  one  of  the  papers  uientioning  their 
capture. 

■  Well,  my  boy,'  said  Mr.  Eoss,  on  parting 
from  Tom  on  the  evening  of  his  return,  '  you 
have  had  a  narrow  escajie  from  getting  mixed 
up  in  bad  company,  and  I  hope  you  will  be 
careful  for  the  future.  I  shall  let  Bob  and  Jim 
knoAv  of  your  telling  me  all  particulars.  It  will 
do  them  good  to  know  tlint  their  falsehoods  are 
discovered.' 

This  did  not  add  to  Tom's  popularity ;  but  he 
did  not  mind,  and  at  any  rate  the  boys  were 
afraid  of  meddling  with  him  after  the  severe 
remarks  made  to  them  by  Mr.  Eoss.  Tom  also 
worked  very  hard,  and  soon  left  their  class  to 
join  the  one  in  which  were  yoimg  men  all  miich 
older  than  himself.  He  got  better  employment, 
too,  as  window-cleaner,  and  presently  a  regular 
engagement  as  helper  at  an  hotel. 

All  this  time  he  kept  his  eye  on  the  cliemist's 
shop,  where  the  friendly  blue  and  red  lights 
seemed  to  encourage  him  and  smile  u]ion  him 
as  they  did  formerly. 

(To  he  continued.) 


LITTLE   PRAYERS    TOR   LITTLE 
THINGS. 

ON  WAKING  IN  THE  MOENIXG. 

MY  gracious  and  loving  Father,  I  conse- 
crate my  renewed  life  to  Thee.  I  wake 
to  duty.  Give  me  grace  to  employ  my  strength 
in  Thy  service.  Thou  hast  made  me  Thy 
creature ;  make  me  also  Thy  willing  disciple. 

Suggested  hi/  '  Life  of  Dr.  Muhlenberg.'' 


m  THE  PILGRIM  FATHERS^ 


,  ANY,  many  years  ago,  people 
in  England  were  not  allowed 
to  worshijj  God  in  the  way 
they  believed  to  be  right,  so- 
^/^^K^M^^  some  people  said  they  would 
leave  England  and  go  to  the 
New  World  across  the  sea.  They 
meant  America,  which  had  not  long 
been  discovered.  They  set  sail  in  a, 
very  small  ship,  but  they  reached. 
America  in  safety,  and  the  first  place- 
they  landed  at  they  called  Plymouth,  in  memory 
of  the  dear  old  home  they  had  been  so  sorry  to- 
lea-\'c.  The  ship  in  which  they  sailed  across  the 
Atlantic  was  called  the  Maijjiower,  and  the 
people  who  went  in  her  are  Icuoami  as  the- 
'  Pilgrim  Fathers.' 

Many  thousands  soon  followed  them,  and 
made  themselves  homes  in  many  parts  of 
America,  and  to  these  homes  they  loved  to  give 
the  names  of  the  English  towns,  to  which  they 
were  many  of  them  never  to  return  again.  This- 
is  how  American  towns  are  caUed  New  York, 
Boston,  Dover,  Newport,  and  by  so  many  other 
English  names.  Great  Britain  for  Little  Britons.^ 


AN    OLD    PROVERB. 

It  is  easy  to  keep  the  castle  that  was  never 
besieged. 


THE    PRIMROSE    AND    THE 
VIOLET. 

A  VIOLET  blue  and  Primrose  pale 
Had  grown  together  side  by  side. 
But  the  meek  Primrose  made  her  wail 

To  see  her  friend  so  richly  dyed. 
And  deemed  her  flower  of  palest  gold 

Eclipsed  would  he  by  scent  and  hue ; 
When  the  sweet  Violet  to  her  told 

A  tale  of  comfort,  Jdnd  and  true. 
Oh,  list  to  what  the  Saviour  said, 

'  Tlie  humble  shall  exalted  be;' 
Then  droop  not  so  thy  lovely  head, 

Or  think  thyself  surpassed  by  me  ; 
And  murmur  not,  thou  child  of  earth, 

That  I  a  richer  pierfume  shed ; 
Only  His  robe  I  symbol  forth. 

But  Thou,  the  glory  round  His  head. 

A.  B.  C. 


j^S  I 


\c 


i^js 


»- 

?■ 


V 


f?» 


— 1^* 


-4 


-^F*\+ :--.-»,-, ^  ^  .     '■" 


3n I 


VIRGO. 

July  is  called  after  Julius  Csesar,  so 

is  August  after   Cresar  Augustus, 

a    title    conferred    upon    Octavius 

"when    the     sovereign    power    was 

given  him  Ly  the  Senate. 

The  Saxons  called  it  Arn-monat,  or 
Barn-Monat,  in  allusion  to  the  filling  of 
the  barns  with  corn.  It  is  thus  the 
liarvest-month ;  and  in  the  drawings  found  in  Saxon 
calendars  still  in  existence,  August  is  pictured  as  a 
carter  standing  near  a  loaded  cart  of  corn.  In  later 
times,  mowers  "with  scythes  were  emblems  of  the 
month,  and  nearer  still  to  our  own  times  August  was 
draA^ai  as  a  young  man,  -v^-itli  fierce  countenance  and 
flowing  garments,  crowned  with  a  coronet  of  wheat, 
and  bearing  a  sacrifice,  whilst  a  sickle  hung  from 
his  girdle. 

In  England,  when  a  man  lias  been  successful,  we 
are  accustomed  to  say  '  He  has  made  his  harvest ; ' 
but  in  Pranee  the  expression  is,  '  He  has  made  his 
August' — from  which  it  would  seem  that,  in  that 
country,  also,  August  is  the  harvest  month,  just  as 
the  August  moon  is  called  the  harvest  moon. 

On  the  23rd  of  this  month  the  sun  enters  Virgo, 
which  is  its  zodiacal  sign,  and  which  signifies  a 
virgin,  or  yo'ing  girl. 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


317 


HOW   SOME    PEOPLE    TRAVEL. 

ASIA. 

lE  have  seen  how  jjeople  travel  in  Europe. 
Now  let  ns  go  together  to  the  extreme  east 
of  the  neighbouring  continent  of  Asia,  and 
take  a  peep  at  those  very  curions  people,  the 
Japanese. 

The  Japanese,  when  they  go  abroad,  seldom  indulge  in  the 
exercise  of  horse-riding,  for  they  are  but  very  indifferent  riders, 
and  it  is  quite  a  painful  business  for  them  to  keep  safely  in  the 
saddle  of  their  straw-shod  steeds. 

They  prefer  rather  to  trust  themselves  to  men  than  to 
horses,  and,  accordingly,  are  can'ied  about  from  place  to  place 
in  palanquins — dreadfully  uncomfortable  contrivances  for  the 
most  part,  in  spite  of  being  fitted  with  cushions,  and  decorated 
with  gilding  and  painting,  as  those  i3f  the  better  class  are. 

The  rank  of  the  occupant  may  be  known  by  the  length  of 
the  pole  by  which  the  palanquin  is  carried.  If  it  is  short,  and 
not  very  thick,  he  is  nobody  in  particular ;  but  if  it  is  of 
great  length,  and  looking  like  a  monstrous  beam,  you  may 
depend  upon  it  he  is  a  person  of  immense  importance. 

In  that  case,  his  servants  will  not  take  the  pole  upon 
their  shoulders,  as  in  the  case  of  common  people,  but  will 
strut  along  after  a  dandified  fashion — supporting  it  in  [the 
palms  of  their  hands. 

The  gentleman  crossing  the  ford  is  evidently  not  much  of 
a  personage ;  and  it  would  be  rather  awkward  for  him  if  one 
of  his  bearers  were  to  put  his  foot  into  a  hole  1 

Next    door    to    Japan    is    China,    the    land    of    tea    and 


318 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


.pigtails;  and  liere,  again,  we  find  many  things 
that  are  strange  to  vis  '  outside  barbarians,'  as 
thuy  choose  to  call  ns. 

Most  of  the  carrying,  both  of  goods  and 
passengers,  falls  to  the  lot  of  the  hard-working 
two-legged  animal,  man;  and  John  Chinaman 
is,  as  a  rule,  one  of  the  hardest-working  of  the 


THE  EOSE    OP   SHARplT.. 

SPOTLESS  He,  of  dazzhng  glow,. 
Undefiled  on  earth. 
Purest  petals,  white  as  snow. 
Yet  of  mortal  birth ; 

He,  the  Stem  of  Jesse's  rod, 
Bearing  sweetest  bloom ; 

He,  the  chosen  flower  of  God, 
Sprmging  from  the  tomb ; 


He  doth  bloom  in  Paradise, 
Yet  on  earth  doth  live ; 

He  hath  died  in  sacrifice, 
Yet  His  life  doth  give. 

Jesus  is  our  mystic  flower, 
Joj'  of  heaven  and  earth ; 

Jesus,  pride  of  earthly  bower,. 
Source  of  angels'  mirth — 

Of  all  flowers  of  Paradise 
Jesirs  is  the  fairest ; 

Of  all  gifts  for  sacrifice,. 
^^  Jesus  is  the  rarest. 


s       He 


mvstic- 


is    Sharon's 
Eose, 
So  white,  yet  rosy  red  ; 
He  tlie  Lily  fair  that  grows 
"Mid   thorns  around   His. 
.     head. 


•whole  human  family.  It  is  not  his  habit  to 
carry  more  than  one  or  two  passengers,  but  he 
is  ever  eager  to  do  business,  and  forgets  the 
extra  exertion  of  carrying  three  in  the  thought 
of  the  triple  fare  he  is  to  receive  at  the  end  of 
Ms  journey. 

(To  he  continued.) 


GLITTERING. 

WHEN  the  bright  temptation  lies 
Glittering  in  thy  dazzled  eyes ; 
"VYhen  the  tempter's  voice  is  near, 
Whispering  sweetly  in  thine  ear  ; 
Loolc  not  on  the  bright  arr;i}', 
Hear  not  the  deceitful  lay  — 
Christian,  rise,  and  flee  away. 


THE    ANIMALS    OP   THE    BIBLE. 

The  Wild  Boar. 

'  So  the  wild  'boarg  spring  furious  from  their  den, 
Eoused  by  the  cries  of  dogs  and  voice  of  men  ; 
O'er  their  bent  backs  the  bristly  horrors  rise, 
Fire  streams  in  lightning  from  then-  sanguine  eyes ; : 
On  every  side  the  crackling  trees  they  tear, 
And  root  the  slrrubs  and  lay  the  forest  bare  ; 
They  gnash  their  tusks,  with  fire  their  eye-balls  roll,. 
Till  some  wide  wound  lets  out  their  mighty  soul.' 

THE  Wild  Boar,  though  resembling  the- 
common  hog,  or  pig,  in  appearance,  is 
very  different  in  its  ways.  It  is  naturally  of 
a  ferocious  disposition.  When  attacked  or 
woxmded  it  is  a  dangerous  animal,  but  never 
begins  a  fight,  unless  provoked. 

With  its  long,  sharp,  and  strong  tusks,  it  is 
able  to  tear  open  the  body  of  an  enemy,  though 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


319 


"vastly  its  superior  in  size  and  strength.  The 
hoar  is  cleaner  by  fiir  than  the  domestic  pig ; 
^et  the  various  kinds  of  pigs  now  reared  in 
different  comitries  came  first  of  all  from  the  wild 
hoar  of  the  woods  and  marshes,  which  is  still 
foiuid  in  Europe,  Asia,  and  Africa. 

'  The  boar  out  of  the  wood  doth  waste  it,' 
says  the  Psalmist  in  the  jiarable  comparing  the 
peoijle  of  God  to  a  vine.  It  is  the  only  time  we 
read  of  the  boar  in  our  version,  though  the  same 
word  in  the  Hebrew  is  in  other  places  put  for 
the  domestic  '  pig '  or  '  swine '  as  it  is  always 
called  in  the  Bible.  The  two  facts  we  learn 
from  it  are  true  to  the  boar's  natm-e.  For  its 
home  is  in  the  wood  or  thicket,  and  it  has  a 
•special  liking  for  the  vine. 

Nothing  delights  the  wld  boar  so  much  as  to 
revel  among  the  grajoes  at  the  very  time  they 
are  getting  ripe  and  ready  for  the  vintage.  And 
slioidd  one  enter  a  vineyard,  it  does  damage  to 
the  plants  as  well  as  to  the  fruit,  trampling 
them  imder  its  feet,  after  it  has  torn  down  the 
boughs  with  its  tusks,  and  destroying  a  great 
■deal  more  than  it  eats. 

So  much  did  the  old  Greeks  and  Romans 
■dread  its  ravages,  that  they  used  to  burn  a  boar 
in  sacrifice  at  the  season  of  vintage,  in  order  to 
gain,  as  they  thought,  protection  from  this  ani- 
mal by  the  aid  of  their  gods. 

Himting  the  boar  has  at  all  times  been  a 
favourite  sport,  and  by  no  means  unaccompanied 
by  the  stimulus  of  danger.  The  chase  is  fol- 
lowed on  horseback,  and  carried  on  by  means  of 
dogs,  which  need  not  be  very  swift,  but  must 
be  strong  and  courageous.  The  huntsmen  are 
-armed  with  stout  spears  and  with  long,  sharjo 
Imives.  The  hoimds  laiow  by  experience  that 
it  is  dangerous  to  p)ursue  the  boar  too  quickly, 
therefore  they  refrain  for  some  time  from  coming- 
near  him.  Gradually,  however,  he  gets  more 
.and  more  angry,  and  at  length  turns  upon  his 
pursuers.  The  foremost  dogs  often  fall  victims 
to  their  zeal :  springing  forward  to  attack  the 
boar,  they  are  ripped  up  by  his  formidable 
tusks,  or  he  tramples  them  under  his  feet  in  his 
rage.  The  hunters  now  come  up,  and  put  an 
*nd  to  the  combat  by  transfixing  the  boar  with 
their  spears.  But  if  the  boar  should  succeed  in 
getting  the  shaft  of  the  spear  between  his  teeth, 
the  hunter  is  in  great  danger,  for  the  infuriated 
animal  crmiches  the  wood  to  splinters,  and  then 


rushes  recklessly  on  his  enemy,  whom  he  over- 
turns  by  his  great  strength. 

Some  animals  grow  larger  in  a  tame  state 
than  they  were  when  wild ;  but  the  wild  boar 
is  so  much  bigger  than  the  domestic  pig  that  it 
has  been  compared  to  a  donkey  in  size. 

In  colour  it  is  a  sort  of  iron -gray  ;  the  young 
ones,  however,  are  striped  black  and  yellow,  lika 
a  zebra.  Travellers  tell  us  that  they  look  very 
pretty  as  they  dodge  in  and  out  among  the 
oleanders,  or  scainper  up  and  do'wni  the  hills. 

The  wild  boar  lives  principally  on  roots, 
which  he  grubs  up  with  his  snout.  Their  flesh 
is  much  better  in  flavour  than  the  pork  we  have 
from  the  common  hog  ;  but  it  was  forbidden  to 
the  Jews,  as  you  wll  see,  if  you  turn  to  j'our 
Old  Testament  and  read  Lev.  xi.  7.  The 
EgyjDtians,  Arabs,  and  Phcenicians  would  not 
touch  it.  The  Ganaanites  used  swine  as  food, 
and  also  offered  them  in  sacrifice ;  and  it  is 
probable,  if  not  certain,  that  the  Jews  at  the 
time  of  our  Lord  had  learned  to  keep  them  as  a 
matter  of  gain,  for  the  sake  of  trading  with  the 
Gentiles.  But  the  occupation  of  feeding  swine 
was  held  in  the  greatest  contempt,  as  we  find 
from  the  Parable  of  the  Prodigal  Son. 

I  am  afraid  it  is  impossible  for  me  to  convey 
to  you  even  an  idea  of  the  horror  and  loathing 
with  which  the  hog  was  regarded  by  the  ancient 
Jews.  Not  only  did  they  refuse  to  eat  its  flesh, 
but  they  held  in  utter  abomination  everything 
that  belonged  to  it,  and  would  have  thought 
themselves  jjoUuted  had  they  been  even  touch(!d 
with  a  hog's  bristle.  The  older  and  stricter 
Jews  felt  so  deeply  on  this  subject,  that  they  ac- 
tually wordd  not  mention  the  name  of  the  animal. 

In  former  days,  the  wild  boar  was  highly 
prized  in  this  country  as  a  beast  of  chase. 
Near  the  city  of  Durham  there  is  a  village 
called  Branopeth,  which  is  sajd  to  come  from  the 
two  words  Brawn's  path — the  ^^'(h  of  the 
Brawn,  or  wild  boar,  because  wild  boar  used 
to  roam  about  there. 

The  nobles  and  squires  of  Old  England, 
armed  with  spears,  and  mounted  on  horseback,  ■ 
used  to  set  out  from  their  halls,  anxious  to  do 
battle  with  this  dangerous  animal.  Up  to 
Henry  the  Second's  time,  herds  of  wild  stouk 
were  to  be  found  in  some  of  the  forests;  but 
gradually,  as  sheep  were  introduced,  the  number 
of  swine  decreased.  T.  S. 


SuxDAY Reading  for  the  You. 


Tlie  ^^'ild  Boar. 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


321 


The  Elephant  remembers. 


^2 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


OUR   DUMB    TEACHERS. 

MEMORY  IN  ELEPHANTS. 

rLEPHANTS  are  often  pic- 
tured as  possessing  sagacitj' 
and  instinct,  but  that  they 
have,  besides,  a  wonderful  and 
faithful  memory  the  following 
story  will  prove. 

An  elephant,  which  had 
been  employed  for  some  time 
in  a  domestic  state,  got  loose 
one  stormy  night,  and  escaped 
to  the  jungle,  and  all  efforts  to 
find  him  were  without  success. 
Four  years  afterwards,  a  large  drove  of  ele- 
jiaBts  having  been  captured  in  an  enclosure,  the 
feeper  of  the  lost  animal,  mth  others  of  the 
natives,  got  on  the  timber  by  which  it  was  sur- 
Ksanded,  to  inspect  the  captives.  Among  them 
ie  fancied  he  recognised  his  former  charge,  and, 
tilCfngh  his  comrades  made  fun  of  him,  he  called 
the  elephant  in  question  by  the  name  it  had 
Swmerly  borne. 

To  the  wonder  of  every  one,  it  came  towards 
Hm.  The  man,  overjoyed,  got  over  the  barrier, 
aad,  ordering  the  elephant  to  kneel  down,  he 
mounted  its  neck  as  in  former  times,  and  led  it 
forth,  to  the  admiration  and  surprise  of  all 
present. 

The  elephant  could  not  forget  his  old  friend 
BBd  keeper  of  former  days. 


AUNT   LOUISA'S    GOLD    BEADS. 

(Contintudi  from  page  307.) 

BEFORE  night,  Susie  had  become  ac- 
quainted with  a  good  many  of  these  evil 
spirits,  and  what  do  you  think  one  of  them 
whispered  to  her  after  she  got  into  bed  that 
night  ?     It  was  this  : — 

'  What  a  little  goose  you  are,  Susie  Green  I 
Yoxi  can  just  take  your  auntie's  key  to- 
morrow and  open  that  old  di-awer  and  get  out 
the  beads,  and  wear  them,  too.  A  string  of 
trumpery,  old-fashioned  beads  I  She  needn't 
iave  made  such  a  fuss  about  it.  Who  will  ever 
baow  anything  about  it,  pray?  No  one  need 
see  you,  and  /  think  you-  are  a  very  foolish 
little  girl. 


Yes,  One  would  know.  The  All-seeing  Eye 
that  never  slejit  or  slumbered  looked  down  on 
every  little  act  of  hers,  saw  her  heart  now,  saw 
her  wicked  desire,  and  Susie  sat  up  in  bed  and 
said,  '  I  won't  take  them  I  I  won't  have  them  1' 
so  loudly  that  her  mother  came  in  from  the  next 
room,  listened  a  moment,  called  '  Susie  1 '  and 
then,  receiving  no  answer,  went  back  again;  and 
Susie  heard  her  say  to  her  father,  '  The  child 
was  talking  in  her  sleep.' 

She  laid  her  head  down  upon  the  pillow, 
closed  her  eyes,  said  over  her  little  prayer  once 
more — the  prayer  that  mother  heard  her  say 
every  night — and  then  composed  herself  for 
sleep. 

'  Yes,  go  to  sleep,'  something  seemed  to  say 
close  to  her  ear  again.  It  wasn't  really  near 
her  ear,  it  only  seemed  to  be ;  and  it  was  such  a 
persuasive,  coaxing  voice  that  she  couldn't  help 
listening.  This  time  it  said,  '  Oh,  yes ;  go  to 
sleep  and  rest,  and  you'll  feel  very  differently  in 
the  morning.  Of  course,  it  wouldn't  be  wrong 
just  to  wear  the  beads  once.  It  wouldn't  be 
stealing,  it  would  be  fun  to  have  your  own 
way  in  spite  of  Aunt  Louisa,  who  is  cross ; 
and  you  are  such  a  dear,  little  girl,  I  don't 
really  see  how  she  could  refuse  you.  You 
would  look  so  pretty,  too,  .and  almost  every 
girl  wears  a  chain,  or  some  ornament.  You 
poor,  destitute  child!  you  wouldn't  hurt  the 
beads  if  you  wore  them  every  day ;  and  as  for 
the  sin,  why,  your  great -grandmother  wore 
them.  But  go  to  sleep  now ;  things  will  look 
very  differently  in  the  morning.' 

Once  or  twice  Susie  tried  to  combat  these 
arguments.  She  knew  she  was  not  a  '  dear 
little  girl,'  and  yet  it  was  so  nice  to  be  called  so, 
and  she  listened  while,  over  and  over  again,  the 
deceitful  voice  lulled  her  soul  to  rest  with  de- 
lusive whisperings.  She  did  not  sit  up  in  bed 
and  say  again,  '  I  won't  take  them  I  I  won't 
have  them  I '  but  she  turned  comfortably  on  her 
pillow,  and  went  to  sleep  with  a  smile  on  her 
lips,  and  these  words  (though  she  was  too  sleepy 
to  be  really  conscious  of  it)  in  her  heart,  '  A 
dear  little  girl — and  so  pretty,  too — of  course, 
of  course ;  and  what  could  be  prettier  than  a 
dear  little  girl,  with  her  great -grandmothers 
gold  beads  about  her  neck  ? ' 

That  was  the  way  Susie  went  to  sleep. 
(To  he  continued.) 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


323 


HOW   SOME    PEOPLE    TRAVEL. 

ASIA. 
{Continued  from  page  318.) 

S  we  go  eastward  and  southward  on  the  maij,  we 
come  to  Thibet,  where  the  favourite  burdea- 
carrier  is  the  yak,  one  of  the  wild  animals  of 
the  country.  Half-tamed,  it  is  used  for  every 
service  for  which  the  people  of  other  lands  em- 
ploy the  horse — to  bear  burdens,  to  drag  the 
plough,  and  even  to  carry  the  soldiery.  Dr. 
Hooker,  the  famous  traveller,  was  taken  prisoner  by  a  divisioa 
of  cavalry  mounted  on  these  strange  steeds. 

The  chief  objection  to  the  yak  arises  from  the  fact  that  it  wiE 
keep  up  a  continuous  and  homble  grunting.  This  has  so  terrible 
an  effect  on  the  nerves  of  many  travellers  that  they  are  frequently- 
driven  to  get  off  the  creature,  preferring  the  fatigue  of  struggling 
through  the  rocky  roads  on  foot,  to  being  ahnost  worried  out  of 
existence  by  its  never-ceasing  music.  From  this  peculiarity  it 
has  heen  given  a  Latin  name  which  signifies  the  '  grunting  ox.' 

Still  further  east  we  come  to  India,  where,  as  all  our  readeis 
know,  the  elephant  is  pressed  into  the  service  of  man  for  a  variety 
of  purposes;  indeed,  it  would  be  difficult  to  see  how  the  natives 
^  of  the  country  could  get  on  without  its  help. 

Everybody  knows  what  an  intelligent  creature  he  is,  and  how 
gentle  he  can  be,  notwithstanding  his  huge  bulk  and  mighty 
strength.  In  all  state  processions  the  elephant  takes  a  conspicuous 
part,  and  the  establishments  of  the  great  princes  of  India  ace 
never  complete  without  a  number  of  these  noble  animals. 

Let  us  go  to  Persia  for  our  last  illustration — the  Ta7duravaii,s, 
sort  of  palanquin,  borne  by  mules.   It  can  be  taken  into  parts  of  tha 


324 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


country  too  rous'li  and  riigrged 
for  wheeled  traffic ;  indeed,  a 
two-liovse  palanquin,  after  an 
almost  precisely  similar  fashion, 
was  in  use  in  our  own  land  not 
more  than  1 50  years  ago,  wlien 
the  roads  were,  to  a  great  ex- 
tent, quagmires,  and  it  was  no 
uncommon  thing  for  carriages 
to  remain  all  night  half-suuk  in 
the  mud,  waiting  for  assistance 
to  dig  and  drag  them  out  in 
the  morning.  These  carriages 
are  said  to  be  very  comfortable, 
and  in  England  were  used  for 
the  conveyance  of  sick  persons 
and  invalids.  One  difficulty, 
however,  was  not  of  unfrequent 
occurrence :  either  the  front  or 
the  hind  quadruped  would  take 
it  into  his  head  to  become 
restive,  and,  perhaps,  indulge 
in  a  fit  of  kicking,  when  the 
unhappy  occupant  of  the  ve- 
hicle would  have  a  good  notion 
of  a  heavy  gale  at  sea,  with- 
out the  trouble  of  leaving  the 
land. 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


325 


Glad  should  every  young  heart  be, 
PiWd  with  gentle,  harmless  glee, 
goodness  of  the  Lord,'' 
\ldren  dear,  ive  now  record ; 
would  pray  that  througli  the  year 
You  may  learn  and laorship  here; — 

"Learn  how  you  may  happy  be. 

Each  in  every  family  ; 
Growing  up  in  peace  and  love 

To  form  families  above. 

Here  the  Savioicr  sows  the  seed, 

To  supply  your  every  need; 
From  His  Word  Lie  sends  it  wide. 

That  all  hearts  may  be  supplied. 

Prize  it,  oh,  ye  little  ones  ! 

Daughters  dear  and youthfiil  sons  I 
Water  it  with  daily  prayer. 

And  sweet  thoughts  ofjesu's  care. 


In  your  Heavenly  Father's  sight 

These  will  keep  your  blossoms  bright ; 

Never  letting  weeds  that  choke 

Spoil  their  growth  and  wrath  provoke. 

Tempers  gentle,  manners  pure. 
These  the  blossoms  that  endure; 

These  grow  on  to  'fruits  of  peace,' 
Bless' d  by  God  with  large  increase. 

Sunday  scholars  of  St.  Ann's, 
And  whoe'er  this  life-work  plans. 

May  you  all  in  such  abound. 
Blessing  every  household  round! 


The  late 
SIBEI.LA  E.  Mll.ES. 


■326 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


BAGAMTJFPIlir     TOM. 

{Com:luded  from  page  315.) 


ONE  day  Tom  again  saw  that  an  errand 
boy  was  wanted,  and  he  again  applied. 
This  time  he  could  bring  vouchers  for  his 
character,  having  earned  a  good  one  from  all. 
After  due  inquiries  had  been  made,  he  was  en- 
gaged, and  showed  so  nmch  intelligence  that 
he  was  promoted,  before  many  weeks  had  passed, 
to  a  position  inside  the  shop.  All  his  spare  mo- 
ments were  passed  in  study,  and  so  rapid  was  his 


remain  there  for  any  length  of  time,  for  it  had  beea 
a  difficult  matter  to  provide  himself  with  clothes, 
and  the  paper  and  books  necessary  for  his  studies. 
At  times  of  greatest  need  a  windfall  had  always 
helped  him  on.  One  of  the  gentlemen  at  the 
hotel  had  given  him  some  half-worn  garments, 
or  an  errand  would  occasionally  fall  in  his  way, 
which  brought  him  a  shilling  or  two. 

Once  really  in  a  good  position,  and  with  a 


progress  that  liis  master  told  him  he  would  one 
day  be  a  rich  man,  perhaps  even  Lord  Mayor  of 
London.  Tom  smiled  at  the  prophecy,  which 
seemed  far  above  his  hopes;  however,  the  en- 
couragement did  him  good,  and  he  worked  with 
renewed  vigour. 

Time  passed  rapidly  on;  by  steady,  honest 
work  Tom  rose  from  one  position  in  the 
shop  to  another,  until  he  was  chief  assistant. 
He  had  always  kept  himself  out  of  debt,  and 
from  the  first  day  he  lodged  with  Mrs.  Middle- 
borough  had  divided  his  earnings  with  her, 
putting  by  his  own  share  in  a  money-box  he 
had  bought  for  the  purpose.     Not  that  it  could 


steady  and  increasing  salary,  Tom  felt  that 
his  way  was  clear  before  him,  and  that  in  due 
time,  with  God's  help,  he  should  be  able  to  put 
by  money  and  provide  for  his  land  old  land- 
lady, who  began  to  be  sorely  in  need  of  rest.  He 
never  forgot  how  much  he  owed  to  her  timely 
help  at  a  time  when  he  knew  not  where  to  lay 
his  head. 

Through  all  his  years  of  struggle  Tom  never 
forgot  the  Lucas  family.  When  he  felt  he  could 
afford  it,  he  purchased  a  present  for  each  member 
of  the  family,  and  one  evening,  after  his  day's 
work  was  over,  set  off  to  take  his  little  parcel  to 
its  destination. 


SuNDA  V  Reading  for  the  Young. 


327 


He  was  not  usually  nervous,  tut  his  heart 
teat  fast  as  he  approached  the  Hollies.  There 
stood  the  old  house,  looldng  much  the  same  as  it 
did  formerly.  He  rang  the  bell,  and  was  a 
little  disappointed  to  see  a  different  servant,  not 
his  old  friend  Anne.  As  he  followed  her  through 
the  garden,  he  saw  at  a  glance  that  there  was 
not  nnich  change  in  it ;  and  he  smiled  when  he 
thought  of  the  scene  between  Mrs.  Knox  and 
himself  the  last  time  he  had  been  at  work 
there. 

At  first,  Mr.  Lucas  did  not  recognise  Tom ; 
but  almost  before  the  latter  spoke  he  said, '  Whj', 
Tom,  who  would  have  expected  to  see  you  after 
I  am  afraid  to  say  how  many  years'  absence  1' 

'I  am  glad,  sir,  that  you  do  remember  me.  I 
have  scarcely  seemed  to  deserve  that  you  should 
do  so ;  but,  perhaps,  when  you  hear  my  story, 
you  and  Mrs.  Lucas  will  forgive  my  abrupt 
departure.' 

Mr.  Lucas  invited  Ms  guest  into  the  other 
room,  where  the  family  were  at  tea.  They  were 
all  greatly  interested  in  his  account  of  his  life,  and 
one  and  all  praised  his  industry.  He  could 
hardly  believe  that  the  tall  young  lady  he  saw 
standing  by  the  window  playing  with  a  pet 
canary  was  the  little  Polly  whose  life  be  had 


saved,  and  to  whom  in  a  way  he  considered 
that  he  owed  his  rise  in  life.  The  presents  were 
after  a  time  shyly  brought  out,  greatly  admired, 
and  accepted  simply  and  kindly. 

It  took  poor  Tom  some  time  to  tell  liis  story 
so  as  to  give  his  old  friends  an  intelligent  idea  of 
all  that  had  passed  since  he  left  the  Hollies. 

They  were  greatly  interested  in  all  that  he 
had  to  tell :  his  struggles  upwards,  and  his 
manly  determination  to  do  right  in  face  of 
difficulties  and  temptation,  and,  more  than  all, 
in  his  narrative  of  how  he  was  able  to  wipe  out 
his  first  error  by  doing  a  real  service  to  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Knox,  in  saving  their  house  from 
robbery. 

Tom  made  firmer  friends  than  ever  that  night, 
and  for  many  years  the  Lucas  family  watched 
his  upward  careei-,'and  lent  him  a  helping  hand, 
always  proud  of  their  friendship  with  the  sturdy, 
manly  fellow,  who  was  determined  to  carve  out 
a  future  with  no  other  help  than  God's  blessing 
and  his  own  right  hand. 

Ragamuffin  Tom  still  lives ;  we  shall  not  say 
where.  He  is  an  honoured  citizen  now,  but  he 
has  never  forgotten  his  early  life,  nor  ceased  to 
be  thanldul  to  the  friends  who  gave  him  his  first 

start  THE  END. 


BABY   MURIEL. 

'  r  I  iVrAS  in  November  that  she  came, 
_l_     A  sunbeam  in  our  home  ; 
But  'twas  the  will  of  God  on  high 
That  she  should  never  roam. 

And  hour  by  hour  we  loved  her  more, 

And  day  by  day  she  grew, 
A  fragile  flower  amongst  us  all. 

As  pure  as  morning  dew. 

We  had  our  darling  but  five  months, 

And  then  He  called  her  home ; 
And  now  she  rests  till  that  great  day 

Asleep  within  the  tomb. 

"\Yo  would  not  wish  her  back  again, 

Now  resting  on  His  breast. 
Where  '  The  wicked  cease  from  troubling. 

And  the  weary  are  at  rest.' 

Beatrice  C.  Britton,  aged  12^  years. 


MARGARET'S   "WAIT. 

LOST,  stolen,  or  strayed  1'  I  do  declare 
here's  a  dear  little  cat  with  his  mother  at 
the  door,  begging  to  come  in.  Well  now,  did  I 
ever?  Gome  here,  Madge,  and  see  the  little 
beauty.'  And  Mrs.  Baldwin,  the  farmer's  wife, 
put  her  head  in  the  passage  way,  and  called  up 
the  stairs  to  her  little  daughter. 

'  Oh,  mother,  he  is  a  little  beauty !  May  we 
keep  him,  instead  of  poor  old  Tom,  who  was 
shot  last  week?'  And  Margaret  fondled  the 
small  kitten  in  her  arms,  while  its  mother  sat 
purring  her  approval. 

Where  the  mother  and  son  came  from  no  one 
Imew  and  no  one  ever  told,  but  'Waif  became  a 
favourite  at  the  farm,  and  Waifs  mother  never 
attempted  to  stray  away  from  the  home  she  had 
so  curiously  adopted. 

They  took  the  place  of  the  farmer's  cat,  who 
had  been  shot  just  before  when  out  poaching  by 
the  Squire's  keeper. 


328 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


Margaret's  Waif.' 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


329 


Muffin  Mr r;-.hi; 


330 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


AUNT     LOUISA'S      GOLD     BEADS. 

(Conlinu£d  from  page  322.) 
CHAPTER    III. YIELDING   TO    TEMPTATION. 


N  the  morning,  when  Susie 
woke,  it  was  just  as  tlie 
tempting  voice  had  predicted. 
Things  did  look  very  dif- 
ferent by  daylight.  In  the 
first  place,  it  was  a  most 
charming  day.  It  was  cold, 
but  then  one  must  expect  it 
to  be  cold  in  winter ;  the  sun 
shone  brightly ;  the  white 
snow-drifts  sparkled  as  if 
they  had  been  showered  the 
night  before  with  diamond  dust ;  and  the  same 
busy  fairies,  who  had  been  up  all  night  appa- 
rently lavishing  their  frosty  treasures,  had  also 
decked  out  the  window-panes  wth  the  most 
grotesque  and  beautiful  traceries,  so  that  Susie 
could  not  see  out  imtil  she  had  scratched  the  ice 
away  with  the  tips  of  her  cold  little  fingers. 

It  was  indeed  a  beautiful  day  :  a  beautiful 
party  day,  she  called  to  her  mother,  as  she  hur- 
ried to  dress ;  and  then  she  thought  of  the  beads. 
Why,  of  course,  it  wouldn't  be  wrong  to  wear 
them  1  How  silly  she  had  been  to  think  so 
for  a  moment  the  night  before  I  If  Aunt  Louisa 
ever  found  it  out  she  would  make  believe  it  was 
a  good  joke.  Maybe  they'd  all  think  it  a  good 
joke — she  wouldn't  wonder  a  bit ;  but,  some- 
how, down  deep  in  her  heart  there  was  a  little 
something  more  than  wonder ;  but  it  is  quite  easy, 
as  we  all  know,  to  stifle  such  disagreeable  con- 
victions for  a  season.  And  then  she  thought 
again  how  mean,  how  very  stingy  and  mean,  it 
was  of  Aunt  Louisa  not  to  let  her  wear  that 
old  chain,  just  for  once.  But  the  mornmg  hours 
wore  away,  so  that  if  she  wanted  it  she  must  go 
and  help  herself.     And  why  shouldn't  she  ? 

Over  and  over  again  she  asked  herself  this 
question,  but  she  was  .not  able  to  answer  it 
satisfactorily  until  just  before  dinner. 

'  I  must  go  up  into  the  garret  and  get  some 
more  of  this  fine  Saxony,'  Aunt  Louisa  announced 
suddenly,  laying  do\^'n  her  knitting.  '  I've  for- 
gotten entirely  what  I  did  with  it.  Do  you 
happen  to  remember  which  chest  it  was  in, 
Maria?' 


'  I  think  in  the  blue  chest  by  the  south  window, 
sister  Louisa,  but  I  am  not  sure.  Shall  I  go  up 
and  look  it  out  for  you '? ' 

'  No,  no,  you  have  plenty  to  do,  and  you  must 
go  to  the  store  for  Susie's  blue  ribbon,  you  said. 
I'll  just  go  and  take  my  time  hunting  it  up.' 

'  Very  well,  and  I'U  go  and  do  my  purchasing.' 
And  Mrs.  Green  put  on  bonnet  and  cloak  while 
Auut  Louisa  slowly  mounted  the  garret  stairs. 

Was  there  ever  such  an  ojsportunity  1  Was 
it  not  wonderful !  Susie  could  scarcely  breathe, 
her  heart  bounded  so  painfully.  There  was  not 
an  obstacle  in  the  way  now.  The  one  servant 
of  the  family,  Aunt  Dinah,  as  she  was  familiarly 
called,  was  busy  in  the  kitchen,  and  Susie  was 
perfectly  free  to  do  just  as  she  pleased  in  the 
matter.  Sometimes  we  are  left  that  way,  just 
to  have  a  trial  of  our  strength ;  and  as  this 
thought  rose  in  her  mind  she  determined  to  flee 
from  the  temptation. 

She  ran  to  the  kitchen  to  see  if  Aunt  Dinah 
had  not  some  work  for  her  to  do;  but  that 
energetic  individual  only  lifted  a  turbaned  head 
from  her  task  long  enough  to  say,  '  Go  'long 
now,  chile, — I've  no  time  to  bother  with  you 
to-day,'  and  went  on  to  beat  a  stiff  batter  ia 
a  yellow  bowl.  Susie  knew  very  well  what  she 
was  about;  and  when  Aunt  Dinah  was  making 
muflSns,  no  one,  not  even  the  High  Admiral,  if 
he  had  dared  enter  the  kitchen,  would  have 
presumed  to  disturb  her.  But  Susie  was  more 
afraid  of  the  little  whispering  voice  than  she 
was  of  Aunt  Dinah's  wrath. 

'  If  you'd  only  let  me  be.at  the  eggs,  please,' 
she  began  in  a  very  humble  tone. 

'  Oh  !  fly  along  wid  ye  I '  said  Aunt  Dbah, 
authoritatively  shaking  her  batter  spoon  at  Susie. 
'  I  can't  think  what  you  want  circumambiatin' 
round  here  on  a  muffin  moruin'.  I  thought  you 
knew  no  chillen's  ever  wanted  in  this  here  kitchen 
when  I'm  conductin'  muffins  for  parlor  tea. 
If  your  gwine  to  that  party  you'd  better  be  up- 
stairs and  get  things  fixed  for  the  'casion.' 

'  I  thought  I'd  hke  to  stay  with  you,'  pleaded 
Susie  ;  '  and  I  thought,  maybe,  you'd  teach  me 
how  to  make  muffins.' 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


331 


'  I'll  muffin  anybody  that  wants  to  steal  my 
receipts,'  cried  Annt  Dinah,  in  an  injured  voice. 
'  1  never  'low  nobody,  not  even  Miss  Louisy,  to 
get  any  of  my  receipts ;  so  you  just  clare  out, 
chile,  'fore  I  get  cross,  and  I  reckon  that'll  he 
in  just  about  two  seconds.' 

Poor  Susie  1  She  dashed  into  the  sitting-room 
and  threw  all  her  good  resolutions  to  the  winds. 
It  was  of  no  use  trying  to  stifle  the  voice  that 
kept  saying,  '  You  are  all  alone,  and  how  pretty 
you  would  look  with  those  beads  about  your 
neckl'  and  Susie  yielded. 

She  shut  the  door  with  a  little  shiver,  won- 
dering if  Aunt  Louisa  were  not  about,  in  hiding 
somewhere,  ready  to  spring  out  upon  her,  and 
ask  her  what  she  was  about.  Then  the  wind 
blew  the  shutter,  and  she  gave  a  half  scream, 
and  opened  the  door,  almost  inclined  to  give  it 
up  and  go  back  and  brave  Dinah  in  her  den.  0 
Susie  I  Susie  I  If  it  were  only  a  good  joke,  why 
did  you  stand  so  long  with  your  hand  on  the 
door-knob,  trembling  and  debating  i\hat  to  do  ? 
She  heard  Dinah  singing  softly  to  herself, 

'  It  must  be  now  de  good  time's  comin, 
In  de  year  o'  Jubilc' 

And  she  Imew  the  muffins  were  about '  conducted,' 
but  she  did  not  feel  like  going  back  to  get  the 
receipt.  She  much  preferred  helping  herself  to 
the  beads.  She  listened  to  Aunt  Louisa  pulling  the 
trunks  about  in  the  garret  overhead,  and  thought 
again  how  foolish  she  was  to  waste  any  more 


time  thinking  about  it ;  and  then,  as  the  squeaky 
shoes  sounded  on  the  stairs,  she  dashed  up  to  the 
bureau,  ttimed  the  key  which  Aunt  Loiiisa  had 
accidentally  left  in  the  drawer,  and  found  the 
box  just  where  she  had  seen  it  deposited  the  day 
before.  It  only  took  an  instant  to  open  it, — to 
pull  out  the  gUttering  coil,  to  thrust  the  box 
back  again,  far,  very  far,  under  the  rolls  of  old 
calico,  linen,  and  scraps  of  silk  that  Aimt  Louisa 
was  so  fond  of  collecting,  to  shut  the  drawer  and 
turn  the  key  with  one  hand,  while  with  the  other 
she  stuffed  the  beads  into  her  pocket.  Only  a 
minute,  and  then  to  creep  out  of  the  room  softly, 
and  go  up  to  her  o^vn  with  a  beating  heart,  for- 
it  was  something  new  for  Susie  to  deceive. 

She  sat  down  by  the  window,  and  leaning  her 
head  upon  her  hand,  tried  to  regain  her  com- 
posure. It  had  been  such  a  pleasant  morning 
when  she  woke  up  and  scratched  away  the  ice 
from  the  panes,  so  she  might  take  a  good  look. 
And  now — oh  I  it  seemed  so  different !  The  sun 
shone  still?  Oh,  yes, — the  sun  was  shining,  but 
somehow  the  sky  was  overcast,  and  there  was  a 
dullness  instead  of  a  glitter  upon  the  pure  white 
snow;  the  day  was  a  very  poor,  common-place 
sort  of  a  day  after  all,  and  if  she  didn't  go  to 
the  party  she  shoxdd  not  feel  very  badly  about 
it,- — she'd  just  as  soon  stay  at  home;  and  then 
she  put  her  hand  in  her  pocket,  felt  that  the  beads- 
were  really  there,  and  for  a  moment  thought  she' 
should  suffocate — her  heart  bounded  so. 
{To  be  continued.) 


A   PAEABLE. 

THERE  was  once  exhibited  a  picture  of  a 
little  child  in  the  dress  of  a  pilgrim,  walk- 
ing slowly  along  a  narrow  path,  which  was 
bounded  on  each  side  by  a  steep  precipice,  the 
edges  of  which  were  hidden  by  a  luxuriant  bed 
of  fruits  and  flowers. 

Behind  the  child  was  an  angel  with  a  coimte- 
nance  of  mixed  tenderness  and  anxiety,  his  hands 
placed  lightly  on  the  shoulders  of  the  little 
pilgrim,  as  if  to  keep  him  in  the  centre  of  the 
path,  while  the  child  with  closed  eyes,  that  he 
may  not  perceive  the  tempting  snares  on  either 
side,  is  walking  calmly  forward,  content  not  to 
see  where  each  footstep  leads,  so  long  as  he  feels 


the  gentle  and  guiding  touch  of  the  angel  upon 
him. 

What  a  parable  of  peace,  and  confidence,  and 
conscious  safety!  We  all,  as  that  little  child, 
may  go  calmly  forward,  so  long  as  we  follow  the 
guidance  of  that  heavenly  monitor,  who  is  with 
each  of  us,  step  by  step,  and  day  by  day. 


LITTLE  RULES   FOR   DAILY    LIFE. 

NEVER  put  off  to  '  by-ahd-by  '  what  can 
be  done  at  once. 
Do  everything  you  have  to  do  heartily ;  but 
do  not  hurry  over  it.     Time  never  fails  those 
who  employ  it  well. 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


THE    FIEST    WILD    ROSE. 

A L:\10ST  before  tlie  day  was  fully  born, 
The  cbildrea  brought  the  first  wild  rose 
to  me : 
As  sweet,  as  perfect,  ais  the  summer  morn 

That  gave  its  welcome  ou  the  fair  wild  tree. 
'  Ah,  joy  I '  we  cried,  '  summer  lias  come  at  last, 
Filled  high  wdth  sweets,  to  «'hisper,  w'inters 
past : ' 

I  drank  its  jierfume,  Hngering  just  awhile 
To  note  the  beauty  of  the  fragile  thing. 

!Meseemeth  that  the  sweet  pale  flower  did  smile. 
As  if  it  knew  the  joy  that  it  did  bring — 

Joy  in  the  bliss  of  lovely  summer's  smile, 
That  is  so  dear,  and  lasts  such  little  while  1 

Dear  little  rose  I  thy  brief,  fair  life  is  past, 

^Ye  took  thy  scented  breath — then  didst  thou 
die. 
Thou  wert  too  fragile,  aye.  too  sweet  to  last, 

So  faded  into  death,  all  silently ; 
Content  to  tell  thy  message,  then  to  go  — 

"VYhither?     Ah,  where — nor  thou,  nor  I  can 
know. 

Xor  does  it  matter,  ft>r  thy  work  was  done. 
Thou  brought'st  a  message,  and  thou  told'st 
it  well- 
Spake  volumes  of  the  lovely  July  sim — 
A  million  dreams  were  woven  'neath  thy 
spell. 
I  heard  the  bees  low  murmuring  hum.     I  heard 
The  fitful  song,  sung  by  each  summer  bird. 


So,  sleep,  dear  rose — content  in  this  :  'twas  good 
To  have  thee  for  a  moment,  and  to  know  , 

That — somewhere,  hidden  in  the  fragrant  wood — 
Thy  brethren  made  a  gay  and  gallant  show. 

Farewell,  sweet  rose  I  may  I  but  like  to  thee 
Do  well  my  work,  nor  ask  what  'tis  to  be  '. 

J.  E.  Panton. 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


333 


THE    BLIND    BASKET-GIRL. 


A  POOR  bliiul  girl  once  brought  to  a 
clergjmian  thirty  shillings  for  a  missionary 
society.  He,  siirprised  that  she  should  offer  him 
so  large  a  sum,  said,  'You,  a  poor  blind  girl  I 
you  cannot  afford  to  give  so  much  as  this.' 

'  I  am  indeed,  sir,  as  you  say,  a  blind  girl, 
but  not  so  poor,  perhaps,  as  you  may  suppose 
me  to  be,  and  I  can  •  prove  to  you  that  I  can 
better  afford  to  give  these  thii-ty  sliiUings  than 
those  girls  who  have  eyes.' 


The  clergyman  was,  of  course,  deeply  inter- 
ested, and  said,  '  I  shall  be  glad  to  know  how 
.you  make  it  out.' 

'  Sir,  I  am  a  basket-maker,  and,  being  blind,  I 
can  make  them  as  well  in  the  dark  as  in  the  light. 
Now,  I  am  sure  that  during  last  winter,  when  it 
was  so  dark,  it  must  have  cost  those  girls  that 
have  eyes  more  than  thirty  shillings  to  buy 
candles,  and  so  I  can  well  afl'ord  to  give  that  sum 
for  the  missionaries,  and  I  hope  you  will  take  it  all.' 


HAPPY    SUNDAY    AFTERNOONS.— No.  VI. 
WHAT   DOES    THE   BIBLE    SAY  ABOUT    THE   ALTAR? 

An  easy  Exercise  for  little  learners  to  write  or  saij  from  memory. 


EVERYBODY'S    CORNER. 


TEARS  AXD  TEAR-BOTTLES. 


PUT  my  tears  into  Thy  bottle,'  says  the 
writer  of  the  56th  Psalm  ;  and  the  re- 
ference is  to  the  very  ancient  custom  of  collecting 
the  tears  of  sorrowing  friends,  weeping  for  the 
dead,  in  sepulchral  unis  of  glass  or  earthenware, 
called  tear-bottles. 

A  traveller  relates,  that  among  the  Persians  it 
is  the  custom  for  the  priest  to  go  to  each  mourner 


at  the  height  of  his  grief  with  a  piece  of  cotton  in 
his  hand,  with  which  he  carefully  collects  the 
falling  tears,  and  then  squeezes  them  into  a  bottle, 
preserving  them  with  the  greatest  care. 

Some  Persians  even  believe  that  in  the  last 
moments  of  life,  when  all  medicines  have  failed, 
a  drop  of  liquid  tears  so  collected,  put  into  the 
mouth  of  a  dying  man,  will  revive  him. 


334 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


THE    'ALBERT    EDWARD'    LIFEBOAT. 

A  TALE  OF  TRUE  BRAVEKY. 


IN  one  of  tliose  terrible  gales  whicli  swept  our 
Eastern  coast  during  tte  first  two  months- 
of  the  New  Year,  ,i  vessel  was  driven  on  the 
sands  in  sight  of  Clacton-on-Sea,  in  Essex,  where 
is  stationed  the  Albert-Edward  Life-boat,  pre- 
sented by  the  Freemasons  of  England. 

The  crew  of  the  disabled  ship  could  be  seen 
clinging  to  the  rigging,  and  signalling  for  help. 
The  tempest  roared  loud  and  the  sea  ran  high, 
and  those  who  watched  from  the  shore  exj^eoted 
every  moment  to  see  the  stranded  vessel  go  to 
pieces,  while  it  seemed  almost  impossible  tliat 
any  open  boat  conld  live  in  such  a  sea. 

The  brave  crew  of  the  Alhert-Edward,  how- 
ever, with  such  a  heart-rending  scene  in  the 
ofBng,  and  a  good  '  self-righter'  in  the  boat- 
house,  did  not  hesitate.  The  life-boat  was  soon 
launched,  and  turned  towards  the  wreck.  With 
brave  hearts  and  sti'ong  anns  they  rowed  against 
wind  and  wave;  and,  after  a  long  and  fearful 


struggle  with  the  raging  elements,  succeeded  in 
taking  the  helpless  crew  on  board  and  bringing 
them  safely  into  CI  acton. 

This  is  the  pleasing  side  of  the  picture ;  but 
they  paid  dearly  for  their  success.  A  cry  of 
sorrow  was  soon  mingled  with  those  shouts  of 
triumph  which  greeted  their  safe  return.  In 
that  terrific  battle  with  the  storm-lashed  sea 
two  of  that  brave  and  noble  life-boat  crew  had 
found  a  watery  grave.  They  did  their  duty 
well ;  and  we  trust  the  God  of  the  •v^'idow  and 
the  orphan  to  comfort  those  who  are  left  behind 
to  moum  their  loss. 

This  is  indeed  the  sad  and  sorrowful  side  of 
the  story.  Well  will  it  he  for  us  all  if  we  strive 
thus  bravely  and  honestly  lu  do  our  duty.  Like 
them,  always  be  brave,  God  helping  ua,  to  do 
and  dare  for  the  weak  and  helpless ;  and  never 
fear  to  stand  up,  against  all  odds,  for  that  which 
is  good  and  right,  and  pure  and  true. 


THE    RESCUE. 

A  FAIR  breeze  the  sails  of  the  good  ship  Now,  Heaven  save  the  brave  hearts  I    The  vessel 

was  swelhng,  is  leaking  ; 

As  gallantly  homeward  she  sped  on  her  way  ;  The  sails  are  all  streamers,  the  mast's  '  by  the 

While  the  song  of  the  sailors  was  joyously  telling  board  ;' 

'  Home  looms  in  the  distance,  love  brooks  no  Theseao'erthedecksof  the  good  ship  is  breaking; 


delay.' 
'  Y'heave-ho  with  a  will,  lads  1'  the  good  skipper 

cried ; 
'  We'll  anchor  in  port  ere  the  turn  of  the  tide.' 

Ah  I  fair  broke  the  morn,  but  ere  noon,  with 
emotion. 
They  saw  the  dark  storm-clouds  creep  over 
the  sky ; 
'  Eeef  sails  1 '  cried  the  mate,  as  the  gale  swept  the 
ocean, 
'  There's  mischief  astern  ;  but  she'll  weather, 
sav  I.' 


They  signal  '  Distress,'  the  crew  speak  not  a 

word. 
'  Y'heave-ho  with  a  will,  lads  I'  the  good  skipper 

cried : 
The  life-boat  rides  bravely  the  crest  of  the  tide. 

Right  on  speeds  the  Albert;    she  nears  them, 
she  hails  them : 
They're  rescued  I     Hurrah  for  the  bold  life- 
boat crew  I 
They  heed  not  the  storm  that  so  fiercely  assails 
them, 
^'^^len  called  for  the  helpless  to  dare  and  to  do. 


'Y'heave-ho  with  a  will,  lads  I' the  good  skipper      '  Y'heave  hoi     Pull  away,   lads  I'    their  brave 


cried, 
'  We'll  anchor  in  port  ere  the  turn  of  the  tide.' 


skipper  cried ; 
'  We'll  land  them  in  port  ere  the  turn  of  the  tide.' 

J.  P.  Britxox. 


[These  verses  arc  copyright  and  set  to  music;  and  appear  by  permission  of  the  Author  and  Composer.^ 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


335 


THE    OLD   MAN'S    DIFFICULTIES. 

AN  old  man  once  said,  '  For  a  long  time  I 
used  to  puzzle  myself  about  the  difficulties 
in  the  Bible,  until  at  last  I  came  to  the  con- 
clusion that  readuig  the  Bible  is  like  eating 
fish. 

'  "When  I  come  to  a  difficulty,  I  lay  it  aside 
and  call  it  a  bone.  Why  should  I  choke 
over  a  hone  when  there  is  so  much  good 
meat  left  for  me  ?  Some  day,  perhaps,  I  may 
find  that  even  the  bone  may  afford  me  nourish- 
ment.' 

A   BOLD  EFFORT   KEWABDED. 

IN  the  days  when  France  and  England  were 
at  war,  and  the  French  troops  were  en- 
camped at  Boulogne,  great  excitement  was 
caused  by  a  daring  attempt  to  escape  on  the 
part  of  an  English  sailor. 

Having  managed  to  elude  the  vigilance  of 
the  guards,  and  gain  the  shelter  of  some  thick 
woods  which  fringed  the  sea-shore,  he  passed 
several  nights  and  days  laboriously  cutting 
the  bark  from  the  trees  with  his  knife,  and 
with  it  constructed  a  rude  kind  of  boat,  in 
which  he  trusted  to  make  his  escape. 

One  morning,  the  weather  being  fine  and 
clear,  he  climbed  a  tree  and  looked  out  for  an 
English  flag,  which  at  last  he  espied  on  a 
cruiser  standing  iu  for  the  land.  Hastily 
descending,  he  drew  from  its  hiding-place  his 
frail  boat,  and,  shouldering  it,  ran  for  the  beach, 
where  he  tried  to  laimch  it ;  but  being  seen 
by  the  French  sentinels,  he  was  pursued,  and 
before  he  could  get  afloat  was  retaken,  and 
this  time  sent  back  to  confinement,  loaded  with 
chains. 

As  soon  as  the  occurrence  was  noised  abroad, 
every  one  was  anxious  to  see  the  boat,  and  the 
affair  at  length  reached  the  ears  of  Napoleon, 
who  was  then  in  command.  He  sent  for  the 
man  and  questioned  him. 

'  You  must  have  been  very  anxious  to  see 
your  country  again,  since  you  were  willing  to 
risk  the  open  sea  in  such  a  craft — I  suppose 
you  have  a  sweetheart  there.' 

'  No,'  replied  the  sailor  ;  '  only  a  poor,  infirm 
old  mother,  who  has  no  one  but  me,  and  whom 
I  was  anxious  to  see.' 

'  And  you  shall  see  her ! '  said  the  General ; 


'  She  must  be  a  good  mother  who  has  so 
good  a  son.'  And  he  not  only  set  him  at 
liberty,  but  gave  him  money  to  take  to  his 
mother. 


TRUE   AS    STEEL. 


IT  was  a  fine  summer  morning,  when  the 
children  asked  if  they  might  play  in  the 
garden.  Mrs.  Arundell  was  very  busy,  but  the 
elder  ones  promised  to  be  very  careful  and  not 
go  near  the  water,  for  the  river  ran  past  the 
bottom  of  the  garden ;  and  therefore  their  mother 
gave  them  permission. 

'  Take  Rodney  with  you,  and  mind  you  don't 
lose  him,  and  don't  go  near  the  river.' 

'  No,  mother,  we  won't ;  we'll  play  at  shop,  and 
Rodney  shall  carry  our  basket  for  us  ;'  and  away 
the  youngsters  skipped  down  the  garden  walk, 
Mary  sedately  holding  Freddy's  hand,  and 
Herbert  and  Ethel,  the  middle  ones  of  the 
quartet,  dancing  with  glee :  and  Rodney,  dear 
old  dog,  gambolling  with  delight  round  the 
sniall  party. 

The  moments  went  by  aU  too  quickly  :  Mary 
and  Ethel  kept  shop,  while  Herbert  and  Rodney 
made  their  purchases,  and  Freddy  pulled  the 
daisies  that  grew  in  the  long  grass. 

So  engrossed  were  they  in  their  play  that  they 
did  not  notice  little  Fred  crawHng  away  further 
and.  further  from  the  shade  of  their  tree, — never 
noticed  him,  until,  in  fact,  thej'  saw  dear  old 
Rodney  give  two  great  bounds  to  the  river 
bank  and  then  pldnge  into  the  stream.  Then 
with  a  cry,  '  Oh  I  where's  Freddie  '?  Where's 
baby  ? '  they  all  rushed  to  the  water's  edge, 
just  as  Rodney  scrambled  to  land  with  poor 
Freddie,  dripping  wet,  and  half  dead  with 
fright. 

How  they  caught  him  up,  and  ran  to  the 
house  to  mother  I  And  mth  what  haste  they  un- 
dressed him  and  put  him  in  a  hot  bath ;  while 
they  tried  to  explain  that  no  one  was  to  blame, 
— no  one  knew  how  he  fell  in ;  but  it  was  sup- 
posed he  must  have  been  trying  to  pick 
some  gold  cups,  on  the  edge,  and  overbalanced 
himself. 

'  Never  mind  now,  children,  how  it  was  ;  let 
us  thank  God  that  he  is  saved,  and  that,  by 
God's  great  goodness,  Rodney  was  watching  him 
when  you  were  not.' 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


"Traea:.  Steel." 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


337 


Ponto  and  Ms  Friend. 

X  X 


338 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


OTJR  DUMB   TEACHERS. 

KINDNESS    AND    GRATITUDE. 

AEELY  is  it  that 
we  hear  stories  and 
anecdotes  of  dogs 
that  do  not  tell  ns 
something  of  their 
sagacit)',  their 
fidelity  and  rea- 
soning powers,  as 
well  as  their  great 
affection  for  their 
owners  or  masters. 
Sirrah,  the  clever 
sheep-dog ;  Gelert, 
the  faithful  hound ; 
Boatswain,  the  Newfoundland ;  and  Help,  the 
faithful  railway  traveller, — these  are  all  historical 
dogs. 

Strangest  of  all  stories,  however,  are  those 
that  tell  of  the  dog's  affection  for  animals  of 
another  species, — affection,  too,  for  which  some- 
times it  is  difficult  to  find  the  motive. 

A  pointer  once  killed  a  gander  and  was  chas- 
tised for  the  offence,  and  had  the  dead  bird  tied 
round  its  neck.  The  goose  was  at  first  very 
miserable  at  the  loss  of  her  mate,  and  persecuted 
the  dog  for  days ;  but  gradually  it  formed  a 
friendsliip  for  him,  and  the  two  fed  from  the 
same  trough  and  slept  on  the  same  straw  till 
death  separated  them. 

Another  dog,  a  terrier  belonging  to  the  noble 
owner  of  Dunrobin  Castle,  having  lost  her  own 
young,  took  a  brood  of  ducklings  under  her  pro- 
tection, and  nursed  them  with  the  greatest  care. 
At  the  present  moment,  sitting  by  the  side  of 
the  writer,  is  a  Teneriffe  poodle,  a  great  pet,  who 
is  never  more  happy  than  when  feeding  from  the 
same  plate  and  lying  on  the  same  cushion  with 
his  great  friend,  the  cat,  with  whom  he  has  lived 
on  terms  of  intimacy  from  their  puppy  and 
kittenhood. 

Yet  a  very  strange  thing  happens  every 
spring,  when  the  doggie  has  his  long  hair  clipped 
short,  and  he  looks  quite  a  different  animal  ; 
then  for  some  days  Pussy  forgets  her  old  friend, 
fails  to  recognise  liim,  and  flies  at  him  every 
time  he  comes  in,  as  she  does  at  all  strangers  of 
his  race. 

Ponto  is  another  instance  of  strange  doggie 


friendships,  for  his  great  and  particular  chum  is 
an  old  barndoor  hen,  who  shares  his  bones  and 
pecks  about  inside  and  outside  his  kennel,  and 
without  the  slightest  fear  of  Ponto. 

But  then  that  is  the  result  of  gratitude  on  his 
part,  for  he  has  never  forgotten  how,  when  he  was 
almost  blind  with  a  weakness  of  the  eyes,  which 
glued  the  lids  together,  and  made  it  difficult  to 
open  them,  old  mother  hen  used  to  take  pity 
on  him,  and  peck  the  eyelids  with  her  beak, . 
imtil  he  was  able  to  clear  them  with  his 
paw. 

Ever  since  then  their  friendship  has  been  firm 
and  unbroken,  and  Ponto's  gratitude  is  real. 


AUTTT    LOUISA'S    GOLD    BEADS. 

(Contiimed  from  page  331.) 

SUSIE  took  the  ornament  vip,  and  her  spiirts 
rose  a  little  when  she  saw  how  beautiful  it 
was.  The  beads  were  not  simply  plain  gold,  but 
each  shining  globule  was  carved  all  over  in  quaint, 
fanciful  designs.  Susie  had  never  heard  how  the 
strange  chain  had  come  among  the  family  pos- 
sessions, and  she  did  not  know  what  Aunt 
Louisa  loiew,  that  her  great-grandfather  brought 
it  from  a  foreign  land,  years  and  years  gone  by. 
He  had  bought  it  of  a  man  who,  tempted  by  the 
bribe  of  gold,  w-illingly  sold  to  the  stranger  that 
which  probably  was  a  trophy  of  some  wild  ad- 
venture ;  and  he  had  brought  it  home,  and  hung- 
it  about  the  neck  of  his  wife,  then  a  fair  young- 
bride. 

Susie  knew  nothing  of  this;  she  only  wondered 
at  the  strange  figures  and  the  odd  characters  in 
the  carving ;  she  only  thought  with  pride  that 
not  one  of  her  school-mates  had  such  a  chain  as 
that. 

Then,  afraid  that  some  one  would  come  in 
and  find  her  with  it,  she  humedly  opened  a 
drawer  and  slipped  it  under  the  neatly  folded 
linen.  But  mother  might  find  it  there  when 
she  came  in  to  dress  her  for  the  party  I 

She  thought  the  matter  over  for  a  'moment, 
and  then  slipped  it  in  the  pocket  of  her  water- 
proof cloak.  '  That  cloak  needs  mending,'  she 
thought  before  she  had  played  with  her  doll 
many  minutes  ;  '  suppose  mother  should  want  to- 
mend  it  to-day  1'  and  then  she  took  it  out,  and 
put  it  under  her  pillow.    Nobody  would  think  of 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


33a 


going  there.  Poor  little  Susie  I  Slie  did  not 
know  that  she  was  prompted  by  the  same  fc.ir  that 
criminals  feel — '  fleeing  when  no  man  pursneth.' 
She  grew  quite  miserable  while  at  the  dinner- 
table,  and  asked  to  be  excused  before  she  had  eaten 
half  a  dinner.  But  the  first  thing  that  she  did 
on  reaching  her  room  was  to  snatch  the  beads 
from  under  her  pillow  and  place  them  in  the 
bottom  of  her  work-basket. 

She  did  not  progress  ver}'  rapidly  with  her 
mantle,  and  she  felt  so  fretted  and  worried 
that  tears  filled  her  ej'es  ever  so  rnany  times. 
She  wished  that  she  could  get  back  to  the 
bureau  without  any  one  seeing  her;  but  Aunt 
Louisa  always  took  her  knitting  into  that  room 
directly  after  dinner, — there  was  really  no  chance 
now ;  and  then,  too,  she  clung  to  her  desire  of 
wanting  to  look  fine. 

At  last  it  was  time  to  dress.  Mrs.  Green 
rolled  the  soft  j'ellow  hair  into  curls  and  tied  them 
with  the  new  blue  ribbon,  putting  the  finishing 
touches  to  her  toilette  with  lo^dug  fingers. 
She  saw,  mth  a  mother's  quick  intuition,  that 
something  was  wrong,  and  noticed  the  moist 
eyes  and  flushed  cheela  of  her  little  pet. 

'  Has  anything  happened,  dear  ? '  she  asked, 
drawing  the  child  to  her  and  pressing  a  kiss  upon 
her  forehead.  '  Has  anything  happened  to  make 
you  feel  badly  to-day?' 

'  N — o,'  hesitated  Susie,  with  a  great  longing 
to  throw  her  arms  about  her  mother's  neck  and 
tell  her  all. 

If  she  only  •  had  !  But  then  there  was  the 
wicked  voice  close  to  her  ear  again,  '  Aren't  you 
ashamed  of  yourself,  Susie  Green  ?  You  are  a 
perfect  baby  to-day  I  Why,  lots  of  girls  disobey 
their  aunties,  and  nobody  cares  a  thing  about 
it.' 

So  when  the  good  voice  tried  to  whisper,  '  Do 
right;  tell  your  mother  all  about  it,'  the  bad 
voice  drowned  it  with  those  wicked  words ;  and 
Susie,  listening  to  the  bad  voice,  said  rather  fret- 
fully,— 

'  I  couldn't  make  my  doll's  dress  fit  to-day  ; 
nothing  goes  right :  that  is  all.' 

Mrs.  Green  kissed  her  again  silently.  She 
thought  that  if  anything  were  really  wrong,  Susie 
coidd  never  go  to  sleep  without  telHng  her. 
Perhaps  the  child  was  not  well :  there  was  a 
great  deal  of  scarlet  fever  about;  and  as  Susie 
went  upstairs  to  put  on  her  fur  cloak  and  cap. 


she  called  out  that  it  was  a  cold  day  and  she 
must  wrap  up  well.  That  was  just  what  Susie 
wanted  to  do, — anything  to  cover  the  beads  up ; 
but  as  she  hastily  tied  the  faded  ribbon  she  could 
not  resist  glancing  in  the  mirror  and  saying, 
'  How  beautiful  I ' 

But  there  was  no  time  to  stop  and  admire ; 
some  one  might  come  in,  and  Aunt  Louisa  was 
always  prowling  about.  To  be  sure,  she  had  left 
her  placidly  knitting  by  the  fire-side ;  but  then, 
how  long  woidd  it  take  her  to  mount  those  stairs 
if  she  chose  to  do  it  ? 

To  Susie's  imagination  Aunt  Louisa  walkt5 
in  seven-league  boots,  so  she  wasted  no  time  in 
admiration,  only  throwing  her  cloak  on  and 
wrapping  her  white  comforter  three  ti,~»ies 
around  her  neck,  and  even  then  feeling  '.l.a.'. 
Aunt  Louisa's  keen  eyes  would  pierce  *ie  r"""- 
ceitful  covering,  and  see  the  glitter  of  g'old  us 
plain  as  day. 

'  Susie,"  called  her  mother  from  the  foot  of  tha 
stairs,  '  here  are  May  Durrie  and  Ellen  Blake 
coming  up  the  walk  for  you.' 

Susie  caught  up  her  muff  and  mittens,  and  ran 
down  the  stairs  two  steps  at  a  time  to  open  the 
front  door  for  her  friends. 

May  Durrie  wore  the  new  plaid  poplin,  with 
the  skirt  all  Icilt-plaited  and  full  of  bows ;  but  she 
didn't  act  as  if  she  felt  like  a  queen  in  her  corona- 
tion robe  after  all,  for  she  kissed  her  friend's 
cheek  very  heartily  and  said,  '  It's  a  good  deal 
pleasanter  for  ue  to  walk  along  together — don't 
you  think  so  ?  Only  let's  get  along,  for  I  am 
afraid  we  are  late,  and  I  know  we  are  going  to 
have  such  a  good  time.  We  always  do  at  Mrs. 
Berkeley's".' 

And  then  Ellen  said,  '  Why,  Susie,  how  red 
your  cheeks  are  I  WTiat's  the  matter  with  you 
to-day  ?     I  never  saw  you  look  so  before.' 

'  I  am  afraid  Susie  is  not  well,'  spoke  up  Mrs. 
Green,  a  little  anxiously.  '  Are  you  sure  you  are 
wrapped  up  enough,  darling  ?'  And  she  put  her 
arms  about  her  daughter's  neck  to  see  if  the 
comforter  was  tied  properly. 

Susie  sprang  back  in  afright.  '  Oh,  mother, 
you'll  pull  my  hair  all  down  1  Of  course,  I'm  all 
right.' 

Susie  was  not  herself  to-day,  that  was  clear, 
and  Mrs.  Green  felt  another  twinge  of  anxiety. 
When  had  Susie  ever  spoken  so  fretfully  to  her 
mother  before  ? 


34U 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


'  Sister  TiOi'-isa,'  slie  asked,  '  liave  you  noticed 
Susie's  red  cheeks  this  morning  ?  do  you  tliink 
it  can  1)6  possible  the  chiki  has  a  fever  ? ' 

'  Fiddlesticks  1 '  said  Aunt  Louisa,  severely. 
'  She  would  be  more  likely  to  have  one  if  she 
didn't  go  to  Fannie's.  It's  just  the  excitement. 
I  rather  think  the  fever  would  abate  if  you  told 
her  to  pull  off  her  things  and  stay  at  home.' 

Susie  heard  only  the  sentence,  '  Pull  off  her 
things,'  and  she  caught  May  by  the  hand  and' 
cried  out,  '  Come  along,  girls  1  do  come  along,' 
scarcely  stopping  to  give  her  mother  a  good-bye 
kiss  as  she  hurried  out  of  the  house. 


"  Susie  ran  to  the  front  door." 


LIBRA. 


^''IBRA  is  a  Latin  word  \^Iiicli  means 
a  balance,  and  it  is  the  zodiacal  sign 
for  September,  because  tbe  sun  en- 
ters  it  on  the  23rd  of  the  mouth. 

The  Saxons  used  to  call  it  the 
Harvest-month  until  they  gave  to 
August  that  title,  and  then  September  was 
represented  as  a  vintager, — a  man  witli  a 
pnrple  robe,  adorned  ^Yith  a  coronet  of  white 
and  purple  grapes,  in  his  left  hand  a  small 
bundle  of  oats,  and  in  his  right  a  cornucopia 
of  pomegranates  and  other  fruits,  with  a  balance, 
the  sign  Libra. 


342 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


THE    PALL    OF    THE    HOLY   CITY. 

kO  you  remember  how  our  dear 
Lord,  just  before  His  passion, 
wept  over  Jerusalem  and 
foretold  its  destruction  ?  The 
beautiful  buildings,  the  glorious 
temple,  were  all  to  be  de- 
stroyed— not  one  stone  left 
upon  another,  because  of  the 
rebellious  children  of  Israel, 
-,   1  v^  who  would  not  receive  those 

^  '  ^"'-^      whom  God  sent   to   them,  in 

His  love,  to  teach  them  what 
they  ought  to  do ;  and  who,  now,  in  their  igno- 
rance and  blindness,  were  going  to  commit  the 
most  dreadful  deed  that  had  ever  been  com- 
mitted by  man — to  crucify  the  Incarnate  God, 
the  Lord  of  Glory. 

Thirty-five  years  had  passed  away  since  the 
tears  of  the  Saviour  of  the  world  had  been  shed 
over  the  beautiful  city  ;  and,  perhaps,  the  Jews 
who  lived  in  Jerusalem  had  forgotten  the  strange 
words  of  Him  whom  they  BtiU  called  the  Car- 
penter's Son. 

But  the  Christiana  in  Jerusalem,  who  treasured 
up  every  sentence  spoken  by  their  Master,  knew 
that  the  end  which  he  had  foretold  was  very 
near,  for  His  o^vn  words  were,  '  And  there  shall 
be  signs  in  the  sun,  and  in  the  moon,  and  in  the 
stars ;  and  upon  the  earth  distress  of  nations, 
with  perplexity.' 

They  saw  all  this  around  them  at  the  Feast 
of  the  Passover  at  nine  o'clock  in  the  evening  ; 
a  bright  light  shone  into  the  temple,  and  lit  up 
the  altar  of  sacrifice  with  the  brightness  of  the 
sun  ;  and  the  great  brazen  eastern  door,  which 
was  so  heavy  that  twenty  men  could  hardly 
move  it,  burst  open  of  its  own  accord,  and  a 
voice  in  the  Holy  of  Holies  cried  aloud,  '  Let  us 
depart  hence.' 

St.  Simeon,  who  had  succeeded  St.  James 
as  Bishop  of  Jerusalem,  and  the  Christian 
Church  over  which  he  ruled,  knew  that  the 
time  had  come  when  they  must  obey  the  com- 
mand which  their  Lord  had  given  them,  and 
'  flee  unto  the  mountains.'  Leaving  the  city  they 
loved  so  well,  they  fled  to  Pella,  a  town  not  far 
off,  amongst  the  hills  beyond  Jordan  ;  and  in 
the  dreadful  war  that  followed,  not  one  of  the 
followers  of  Jesus  perished. 


Vespasian,  the  bravest  general  of  the  Romans, 
had  been  sent  by  the  Emperor  to  Judaea.  All 
the  towns  fell  before  the  arms  of  his  victorious 
soldiers ;  and  just  after  the  Christians  had 
escaped  to  Pella,  he  had  advanced  very  near  to 
the  walls  of  Jerusalem. 

The  Jews  shut  up  in  the  city  were  making 
war  upon  each  other,  and  their  misery  and 
wretchedness  were  very  great. 

Vespasian  had  sent  and  offered  them  terms  of 
peace,  which  they  had  refused,  when,  just  as  the 
Roman  general  was  leading  his  army  to  their 
very  gates,  news  came  from  Rome  that  the 
t\Tant  Nero  was  dead.  He  had  either  been 
nmrdered,  or  killed  himself.  Vespasian's  soldiers 
proclaimed  their  general  Emperor,  and  he  went 
back  to  Rome. 

Two  years  later,  his  son  Titus  appeared  before 
Jerusalem.  It  was  the  time  of  the  Passover, 
the  year  70,  and  crowds  of  Jews  had  thronged 
to  the  Holy  City  to  keep  the  feast. 

Titus,  who  was  a  very  gentle,  merciftil  prince, 
once  more  offered  terms  of  peace.  These  were 
again  refused,  and  then  began  a  time  of  such 
trouble  as  I  should  not  like  to  tell  you  about ; 
but  the  siege  of  Jerusalem  has  stood  out, 
through  all  the  ages  of  history,  as  the  most 
terrible  of  all  the  sieges  that  have  ever  been 
known. 

There  was  no  food  to  lie  got.  The 
starving  people  fought  for  horses,  mice,  rata, 
skins,  leather,  anything  that  they  could  lay  hold 
upon  ;  and  murder,  and  bloodshed,  and  sick- 
ness, increased  every  day.  A  great  many  of 
the  wretched  people  took  refuge  in  the  Temple, 
thinking  that  in  God's  house  they  were  sure  to 
be  safe. 

Titus  was  very  anxious  to  spare  the  beautiful 
building,  but  on  the  10th  of  August,  a.d.  70,  it 
was  set  on  fire  and  utterl}'  destroyed;  and  all 
who  had  sought  shelter  within  the  sacred  walls 
were  put  to  death. 

Titus  offered  sacrifices  to  his  false  gods  upon 
the  place  where  that  glorious  Temple  had  once 
stood,  and  in  less  than  a  month  afterwards,  the 
whole  city  was  taken  and  almost  entirely 
destroyed. 

You  remember  how  we  are  told  in  the  Gospel 
that  the  fierce  crowd  who  stood  in  the  judg- 
ment-hall, when  Jesus  was  brought  befoi-e 
Pilate,  cried  out  iu  their  rage  and  fury,  '  Let 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


343 


Him  be  crucified  I  His  blood  be  upon  us  and 
our  children.'  Their  punishment  had  indeed 
come  to  them  at  last.  The  scene  on  Calvary's 
hill  was  avenged  now.  It  is  said  that  eleven 
hundred  thousand  Jews  were  killed,  and  ninety- 
seven  thousand  were  sold  as  captives  during 
that  fearful  siege  of  Jerusalem.  Some  of  the 
treasures  of  the  Temple  had  been  saved  out  of 
the  fire,  and  they  were  carried  out  in  the  great 
triumphal  procession  with  which  Vespasian  and 
Titus,  in  the  year  71,  celebrated  their  victory 
over  the  Jews. 

Vespasian  afterwards  built  a  beautiful  temple 
to  Peace,  in  which  the  golden  candlestick,  and 
the  golden  table  of  the  shewbread,  and  the  book 
of  the  law,  which  had  been  so  precious  to  the  chil- 
dren of  Israel,  were  placed ;  but  after  a  time  this 
magnificent  building,  with  all  that  it  contained, 
was  burnt  to  the  ground. 

When  Vespasian  died  he  was  succeeded  by  his 
son  Titus,  and  during  both  these  reigns  Chris- 
tiana were  allowed  to  worship  God  in  peace. 

'  Under  the  King's  Banner.' 


IDLENESS    MEANS    POVERTY. 

Idleness  travels  very  leisurely,  and  Poverty 
soon  overtakes  her. 


HAM-TI'S    TRIUMPH. 

HAM-TI,  the  best  and  wisest  Emperor  that 
ever  filled  the  Chinese  throne,  after  gain- 
ing three  signal  victories  over  the  Tartars,  re- 
turned to  Nankin  in  all  the  glory  of  a  con- 
queror. 

Having  rested  some  days,  the  people,  who 
were  very  fond  of  processions,  impatiently  ex- 
pected the  triumphal  entry  which  Emperors  on 
such  occasions  iisually  made. 

Their  murmurs  came  to  the  ears  of  the 
Emperor,  and  as  he  loved  his  people,  he  was 
willing  to  do  all  in  his  power  to  satisfy  them. 

He  therefore  assured  them  that  he  intended 
upon  the  next  feast  of  lanterns  to  give  them  one 
of  the  most  glorious  triumphs  ever  seen  in  China. 

On  the  appointed  day  the  people  assembled  at 
the  gate  of  the  palace  eagerly  expecting;  but 
they  waited  a  long  time  without  seeing  One  pre- 
paration made  which  usually  preceded  such 
festivals.     The  lantern  with  the  thousand  tapers 


was  not  brought  out  ;  the  fireworks,  which 
usuall}'  covered  the  city  walls,  were  not  lighted. 
At  last  they  began  again  to  murmur  at  the- 
delay  ;  when  the  palace  gates  opened  wide,  and 
the  Emperor  himself  appeared,  not  in  unwonted 
splendour,  but  in  ordinary  dress,  followed  by  the 
blind,  the  maimed,  and  the  strangers  of  the  city,, 
all  in  new  clothes,  and  each  carjying  in  his 
hand  money  enough  to  supply  his  wants  for 
a  year. 

The  people  were  at  first  amazed,  but  soon 
perceived  the  wisdom  of  their  king,  who  taught 
them  that  to  make  one  man  happy  was  more 
truly  great  than  having  ten  thousand  captives- 
at  the  wheels  of  his  chariot. 


RAIN    AMONG    THE    HILLS. 

OH,  the  balmy  spring-time  rain, 
Watering  all  the  verdant  plain, 
Bedeck' d  with  flowers; 
Sleeping  every  bud  and  seed, 
Till  they  spangle  all  the  mead 
Through  summer  hours  I 

Flash,  and  crash,  and  thunders  roar 
When  the  mountain  rains  down-pour 

On  parched  sod ; 
How  the  thirsty  earth  rejoices, 
And  the  birds,  with  cheerful  voices. 

Praise  their  God  I 

Then  the  pelting  autumn  rain 
Comes  to  swell  the  buried  grain, 

Newly  sown ; 
Down  in  darkness  in  the  earth 
Waiting  patiently  its  birth 

To  be  shown. 

Then  the  beating  winter  rain 
In  torrents  pours  amain 

W'ith  awful  roar ; 
Till  the  drops  congeal  to  snow. 
And  the  frozen  waters  flow 

In, streams  no  more. 

But  the  spring-time  'wiU  return. 
And  the  summer's  sun  will  burn, 

And  rain  descend ; 
And  the  arch  of  peace  shall  rise. 
With  its  sevenfold  radiant  dyes. 

Till  time  shall  end  !  A.  B.  0. 


344 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


A  rLau)3-  Daj-  on  the  Hills. 


^SuNDAY Reading  for  the  Young. 


345 


346 


SuNDA  V  Reading  for  the  Young. 


EVENING. 


IT  is  tlie  hour  of  evening, 
Wlien  nature  is  at  rest : 
Each  weary  bird  is  sleeping 
Within  its  pleasant  nest ; 
The  bee  hath  ceased  its  humming, 

The  fish  no  longer  springs  ; 
Even  the  happy  butterfly 
Closeth  its  shining  wmgs. 

The  pretty  flowers  are  lying 

Half  hidden  in  the  grass ; 
They  cannot  hear  our  footsteps. 

Or  our  voices  as  we  pass. 
For  all  their  darling  blossoms 

Are  shut  in  slumber  deep. 
Just  like  the  eyes  of  chOdren 

"VYhen  they  are  fast  asleep  I 

The  little  stars  are  twinkling. 
See  how  they  shine  and  shako  ; 

The  little  stars  are  sleepy, 
They  cannot  keep  awake. 


The  moon  is  hidden  from  us, 

She  is  so  very  proud  ; 
But  I  know  that  she  is  sleeping 

Beyond  yon  silver  cloud. 

It  is  the  hour  of  evening. 

As  all  creation  feels  ; 
The  world  is  very  beautiful 

While  slumber  o'er  it  steals. 
No  soimd  profanes  the  silence 

Of  its  unbroken  peace, 
But  the  flowing  of  the  water 

That  can  never,  never  cease. 

The  flowing  of  the  water 

Is  a  very  sleepy  sound ; 
The  lullaby  of  Nature, 

With  silence  all  around. 
The  music  of  the  night-time 

It  stealeth  to  repose  ; 
The  never-resting  water, 

How  sleepily  it  flows  I 

Poems  for  a  Child. 


QUEEN    VICTORIA  AND   HER   MINISTER. 


A  NOBLEMAN  once  arrived  at  Windsor 
late  on  Saturday  night  with  despatches 
for  the  Queen. 

On  being  introduced  to  Jier  presence  he  said, 
•I  have  brought  for  your  Majesty's  inspection 
some  documents  of  great  importance,  but  as  I 
shall  be  obliged  to  trouble  you  to  examine  them 
in  detail,  I  will  not  encroach  on  your  Majesty's 
time  to-night,  but  I  will  request  an  audience  to- 
morrow morning.' 

'To-morrow  morning  1'  replied  the  Queen: 
'  to-morrow  is  Sunday,  my  lord.' 

'  True,  your  Majesty,  but  business  of  the 
State  will  not  admit  of  delay.' 

'  I  am  aware  of  that,'  answered  Her  Majesty, 
'  and  as,  of  course,  your  lordship  could  not 
have  arrived  earlier  at  the  palace  to-night,  I 
will,  if  they  are  of  such  pressing  importance, 
examine  these  papers  after  church  to-morrow 
morning.' 

Next  morning,  the  Queen  and  court  went 
to  church,  and  so,  too,  did  the  noblenran,  and, 
much  to  his  surprise,  the  sermon  was  about 
the  dut}^  of  keeping  holy  the  Christian  Sabbath 
Day. 


'How  did  your  lordship  like  the  sermon?' 
asked  the  Queen. 

'  Very  much  indeed,  your  Majesty,'  replied 
the  nobleman. 

'  Well,  then,'  said  the  Queen,  '  I  will  not 
conceal  from  you  that  I  sent  the  clergyman  the 
text  from  which  he  preached.  I  hope  we  shall 
all  be  improved  by  the  sermon.' 

The  Sunday  passed  without  a  single  word 
being  said  relative  to  the  State  papers,  and  at 
night,  when  Her  Majesty  was  about  to  -(vith- 
draw,  'To-morrow  morning,  my  lord,  at  any 
hour  you  please,'  said  the  Queen,  '  as  early  as 
seven,  if  j'ou  like,  we  will  look  into  the  papers.' 

The  Minister  of  State  said  that  he  could  not 
think  of  intruding  on  Her  Majesty  at  so  early 
an  hour,  that  nine  o'clock  would  be  soon 
enough. 

'  No,  no,  my  lord,'  replied  the  Queen,  '  as  the 
papers  are  oi  importance,  I  wish  to  attend  to 
them  very  early.  However,  if  you  wish  it  at 
nine,  be  it  so.' 

And  accordingly,  at  nine,  Her  jNIajesty  was 
seated,  ready  to  receive  the  nobleman  and  his 
despatches. 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


347 


HOW   SOME    PEOPLE    TRAVEL. 

AFEICA. 


COMING  to  tlie  most  backward  of  the 
four  continents,  the  'great  dark  continent' 
of  Africa,  let  us  go  first  to  one  of  the  most  en- 
lightened parts  of  it — Egypt — and  see  the  mode 
of  getting  about. 

The  Egyptian  lady  of  high  rank  goes  on  her 
donkey  to  the  Bazaar,  at  which  she  can  get 
nearly  everything  she  wants  to  purchase.  Her 
attendant  walks  before  her,  and  when  he  comee 
to  one  of  the  many  narrow  and  crowded  streets 
on  their  waj',  he  wiU  stalk  along,  waving  his 
wand,  and  using  it  possibly  upon  those  who  get 
in  his  path,  crying  out  to  the  people  to  make 
room  for  his  mistress. 

She  wears  her  curious  veil.  All  Egyptian 
women  go  muffled  up  in  such  a  way  that 
nothing  is  visible  but  their  eyes. 

Then  we  have  the  Arab  of  the  desert, 
mounted  on  his  swift  and  untiring  camel,  with- 
out whose  aid  the'  great  desert  in  which  he 
delights  to  roam  could  not  be  traversed  by 
man. 
.  The  Arab  is  almost  as  much  at  home  on  his 
camel  as  we  are  when  walking  on  foot,  and 
thiidts  nothing  of  cooking  his  dinner  as  he  moves 
rapidly  along  over  the  burning  sand. 

He  evidently  finds  no  difficulty  in  riding  his 


useful  quadruped;  but 
Europeans  who  have 
tried  it  say  there  is 
nothing  so  intolerable 
as  the  motion  of  the 
long-legged  creature, 
as  first  one  side  and 
then  the  other  alter- 
nately rise  and  de- 
scend as  he  moves 
forward. 

Going  further  south, 
we  reach  Equatorial 
Africa,  and  meet  with 
an  explorer,  who  has 
to  be  carried  across 
one  of  the  wide  swamps 
that  frequently  bar  the 
j)ath  in  these  regions.    '^. 


348 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


The  bearers  manuf;icture  a  sort  of 
litter,  and  placing  it  upon  the  top 
of  their  woolly  heads,  march  on  qnite 
contentedly,  although  sometimes  they 
are  nearly  np  to  their  necks  in 
water. 

The  negro  is  vei'v  fond  of  carry- 
ing his  burden  on  his  head,  which 
is  said  to  be  the  least  sensitive  j)art 
of  his  person,  and  if  left  to  himself 
will  not  fail  to  hoist  it  there. 

Further  south  still,  we  reach  the 
Cape  of  Good  Hope,  where  are  to 
be  found  Hottentots,  Kaffirs,  and 
Bushmen. 

A  Namaqua  Hottentot,  just  start- 
ing off  on  a  hunting  expedition,  is 
one  of  the  most  startling  objects  to 
an  European.  He  may  not  possess 
a  horse,  but  if  he  is  fortunate  enough 
to  own  a  Cape  ox,  with  it  he  makes 
a  very  good  shift.  He  will,  no 
doubt,    return    with     several    dead 


animals   hanging  at 
his  saddle. 

The  Island  of 
Madagascar  fur- 
nishes a  last  curious 
illustration.  There 
the  roads  are  rocky 
and  precipitous,  and 
there  is  not  a  single 
wheeled  vehicle  on 
the  whole  island — 
not  even  a  \Yheel- 
barrow. 

All  the  carrying 
is  done  by  men,  who 
lil't  the  traveller 
up  in  a  sort  of 
apology  for  a 
palanquin,  and 
trot  off  at  a  good 
pace,  never  once 
stopping,  but 
every  now  and 
then  changing 
the  poles  from 
shoulder  to 
shoulder     when 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


349 


slackening  speed.  Eight  men  accompany  each 
palanquin,  and  as  soon  as  those  of  the  first  relay 
are  tired,  the  others  stoop  under  the  poles  and 
take  the  burden  upon  their  shoulders,  keeping 


up  the  pace,  so  that  the  traveller,  if  he  did 
not  see  them,  would  not  Icnow  there  had  been 
any  change  in  his  bearers. 

{To  be  continued.) 


THE  ROMAN   SLAVE. 


PATHEE,'  said  school-boy  Dick,  '  I  wish 
you  would  tell  me  something  about  the 
way  the  Romans  treated  their  slaves.  We  have 
got  for  our  composition  lesson  this  week  the 
"  Roman  slave,"  it's  rather  a  jolly  subject,  and 
I've  written  a  good  deal  already,  but ' 

'  You  want  a  few  ideas  of  mine  just  to  end  up 
with  a  flourish  ;  is  that  it,  Dick  ? '  asked  his 
father,  with  a  smile. 

'  Yes,  that's  just  it,'  declared  Dick.  '  I  want 
to  do  this  composition  extra  well,  for  the  master 
has  promised  that  the  six  boys  who  succeed  best 
in  this  are  to  have  a  half-holiday  to  see  the 
cricket-match  on  Harley  Common.' 

■■  Let  me  see  what  I  can  remember  on  the 
subject,'  said  his  father.  '  I  sujipose,  by  the  way, 
that  helping  is  allowed  ?  ' 

'  Yes,  we  may  get  our  information  from 
either  books  or  persons ;  but  the  master  said 
he   should   expect    the   writing — I    mean    the 


wording,  you  know,  to  be  cm-  own  unaided 
effort.' 

'  Very  well,  then,  I  could  tell  you  something 
about  the  different  distinctions  to  be  observed 
in  the  slaves  exposed  for  sale — if  you  do  not 
already  Icnow  it,  that  is  '?  ' 

'  No,  I  don't,'  said  Dick  eagerly,  '  and  I  don't 
believe  any  of  our  fellows  do.  That's  just  the 
sort  of  thing  that  will  do,  I  should  think,'  ended 
Dick,  rather  vaguely. 

'  Let  us  suppose,  then,  that  we  are  in  one  of 
the  great  slave -markets — either  of  Rome  itself  or 
any  of  her  large  colony  cities.  The  place  is 
crowded  with  slaves  just  as  if  it  were  a  cattle 
fair  of  our  times,  and  most  of  these  slaves  bear 
round  their  necks  a  scroE,  on  which  their  virtues 
and  their  vices  are  plainly  inscribed  ;  and  by 
this  means  much  loss  of  time  is  spared,  and  a 
purchaser  could  see  at  a  glance  whether  the  slave 
he  had  singled  out  was  strong,   a   good  cook. 


350 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


clever  -with  liorses,  and  bo  forth,  or  be  warned  from 
buying  him,  at  any  rate  for  a  high  sum,  by  the 
condemning  Tvords  of  "  thief,"  "  suicidal,"  or 
"  runaway,"  whicli  might  happen  to  be  printed 
on  his  scroll.' 

'  I  wonder  they  put  those  sort  of  vices  on  the 
slaves'  scrolls,'  said  Dick  ;  '  it  would  altogether 
prevent  people  from  buying  them,  I  should  think. 
What  good  would  it  be  to  buy  a  slave  if  he  w-as 
to  commit  suicide  the  next  day  ? ' 

'  The  law  obhged  the  seller  to  put  the  exact 
truth  on  the  slave's  scroll,'  answered  his  father ; 
'  and  should  any  dishonest  dealer  attempt  to 
evade  this  law  and  omit  some  manifest  defect, 
the  purchaser  was  allowed  to  return  the  slave 
within  six  months  and  demand  his  money  back 
again.' 

'  Well,  then,  the  would-be  "  suicide  "  would 
never  be  sold,  I  am  sure,'  persisted  Dick. 

'  He  would  be  sold  cheap,  of  course ;  for 
instance,  a  doctor  might  buy  him  for  some  of 
those  experiments  which  the  Koman  doctors 
■wonld  attempt,  utterly  reckless  of  either  the  life 
or  the  agony  he  might  cause  his  unhappy 
subject.' 

'  Poor  fellow  I  Yes,  he  might  be  bought  for 
that  purpose ;  but  what  a  horrible  one  I  Go  on, 
Father,  please.' 

'  AH  the  slaves  sold  in  the  market-place  did 
not  wear  this  scroll.  Some  might  be  seen  wearing 
a  cap  (called  "  pileus  "),  this  was  to  announce 
that  they  were  to  be  sold  without  any  warranty; 
the  other  slaves  were  all  bareheaded.' 

'  Like  a  lot  of  blue-coat  boys,'  remarked 
Dick,  by  way  of  parenthesis. 

'  If  a  slave  were  a  captive,  newly  imported 
and  sold  for  the  first  time,  this  fact  would  be 
annonnced  by  rubbing  white  chalk  on  to  the 
Boles  of  his  feet.' 

'  That'll  sound  jolly  in  my  theme,'  said  Dick. 
'  I'll  work  up  that  quite  poetically,  throwing  in 
something  about  the  white  cliffs  of  Albion  ;  but, 
of  course,  I  miist  make  it  plain  that  this  one  is  a 
British  slave.' 

'  Bravo,  Dick  I  I  must  own  that  idea  had  not 
occurred  to  me  ;  it  might  well  have  happened.' 

'  It  will  do,  anyway,  to  finish  up  my  compo- 
sition with  a  flourish,  as  you  said,'  broke  in  Dick. 
'  Thank  you.  Father,  I  am  beginning  to  have 
hopes  of  the  cricket-match  after  all.' 

E.  A.  B. 


STILPOK". 

IT  is  recorded  of  Stilpon,  the  philosopher, 
that  when  his  city  was  destroyed,  and  with 
it  his  wife  and  children  and  all  that  he  had,  and 
he  alone  escaped  wth  his  life,  being  asked  if  he 
lost  any  treasure,  he  replied,  '  All  my  treasures 
are  with  me  —  justice,  virtue,  temperance, 
prudence,  and  the  divine  principle — not  to  esteem 
anything  as  mine  that  can  be  taken  from  me.' 
Even  amid  the  ruins  of  his  country,  he  stood 
erect  and  steadfast. 


PERSEVERANCE. 

Great  works  are  generally  perfomied,  not  by 
strength,  but  by  perseverance. 


AUNT    LOUISA'S    GOLD    BEADS. 

{Continued  frotu  page  340.) 

CHAPTER  IV. LOST. 

USIE  felt  decidedly  better 
t^  when  she  was  in  the  street 
chatting  with  her  friends, 
and  it  did  not  take  them 
very  many  minutes  to  reach 
Fannie's  door.  There  were 
lots  of  girls  at  the  windows 
looking  out,  early  as  it  was  ; 
some  had  white  frocks,  and 
some  had  merino;  some  had 
sashes,  some  had  none  ;  two 
or  three  wore  corals  or  gold 
chains  about  their  necks;  and  Sarah  Frisbee 
actually  had  bracelets — a  pair  of  them  1 

'  Joe  gave  them  to  me  last  night,'  she  ex- 
plained, with  a  little  pardonable  air  of  pride,  for, 
of  course,  every  one  said,  '  Oh  I  ah  I  Where  did 
you  get  them?  Are  they  real  gold  '?  You  don't 
say  so  I  Aren't  they  sweet  ? '  And  e-ach  girl 
had  to  examine  them  and  turn  them  around  on 
Sarah's  wrist,  and  one,  more  presuming  than  the 
rest,  actually  had  to  try  them  on — '  to  see  how  it 
would  seem  if  they  were  hera,'  she  said. 

Fannie  gave  them  all  a  hearty  welcome  when 
they  came  in,  and  helped  them  to  take  off  their 
things  in  the  hall ;  and  oh  1  oh  1  if  Sarah  Frisbee 
had  bracelets,  here  was  Susie  Green  with  a  great 
gold  chain  as  thick  as  one's  finger  around  her 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


351 


neck — a  solid  gold  chain,  made  of  strange,  carved 
Leads,  strung  on  a  cord,  and  tied  at  the  back  with 
a  small  black  bow.  In  a  minute,  every  bead  had 
been  examined  and  commented  upon,  and  then 
came  the  inevitable  question,  '  Where  did  you 
get  it  ? ' 

Susie's  cheeks  were  all  aflame  now.  '  Get  it  ? 
\"\liy,  from  home,  of  course;  where  should  I  get 
it  ?  '  she  answered  rather  snappishly.  '  Where 
should  I  be  likely  to  get  it  ?  It  belonged  to  my 
great-grandmother.' 

'  Dear  me  1 '  And  then  it  w^as  looked  at  again, 
and  Susie  evidently  had  gained  in  the  opinion  of 
the  girls  when  she  went  upstairs  into  the  play- 
room. 'V^^lat  if  she  did  have  on  her  old  Mar- 
seilles skirt  1  The  gold  beads  and  the  surety  that 
she  had  once  possessed  a  great-grandmother 
carried  weight  with  it,  even  to  children. 

Then  came  games, —  housekeeping  mother, 
playing  tea,  and  going  visiting ;  varied  with 
blindman's  buff  and  hide  the  handkerchief,  until 
sashes  were  a\\Ty  and  hair  disordered,  and  not 
one  among  the  band  cared  whether  their  dress 
were  made  of  silk  or  calico.  And  just  when  these 
amusements  were  beginning  to  flag,  Ned  and 
Tom  Berkeley  came  in,  declaring  there  was  no 
part  of  the  house  so  pleasant  for  a  lot  of  boys 
and  girls  as  the  old  garret,  the  roomy  old  garret, 
that  covered  the  whole  top  of  the  house.  No 
.  one  needed  a  second  invitation,  and  away  they 
all  rushed,  through  the  hall  and  up  the  steep, 
short  stairs,  shouting  merrily. 

There  was  nothing  more  in  the  Berkeley  garret 
than  was  to  be  found  in  any  other  spacious 
country  garret,  but  the  barrels  of  musty  books 
and  papers,  the  boxes  of  old  clothes,  the  chest 
containing  the  rubbish  of  more  than  half-a-century 
were  just  so  many  treasures  to  the  children. 

The  garret  became  for  the  time  a  little,  un- 
explored new  world,  and  each  child  an  embryo 
Columbus.  In  five  minutes,  Rosie  Eaton  was 
seated  in  an  odd,  oval-shaped,  blue  bread-bowl, 
that  looked  more  like  a  skiff  than  anything  else, 
and  away  she  went,  rocking  herself  to  and  fro 
upon  a  wooden  ocean ;  while  May  Durrie,  for- 
getful of  the  dignity  of  her  new  poplin,  doffed  an 
antique  flowered  dressing-gown  over  it,  and  rode 
a  prancing  steed,  composed  of  a  rickety  chest 
and  an  ancient  side-saddle,  to  the  great  delight 
of  her  admiring  aiidience. 

The  boys  cared  more  for  a  circus  than  any- 


thing else  in  the  world,  and,  with  Ned  for  a 
8ho\\Tnan,  all  the  four-and-twenty  girls  were 
turned  into  prancing  ponies  in  the  tmnkling  of 
an  eye.  This  left  no  audience  to  speak  of, 
unless  it  might  be  Tom,  who  bashfully  took 
refuge  behind  his  grandmothers  spinning-wlieel. 
Each  girl  preferred  to  be  a  pony,  and  to  shake 
her  hair  and  waist  ribbon,  and  otherwise  show 
off  as  Ned  dictated. 

After  the  ponies  had  performed  to  the  entire 
satisfaction  of  the  one  spectator,  May  Durrie 
very  willingly  turned  her  Arabian  courser  into 
an  elephant,  fresh  from  the  jungles  of  India, 
swaying  wildly  on  the  side-saddle  as  she  lashed 
the  animal  to  fury,  shouting  to  the  others  to  clear 
the  way.  It  really  was  no  wonder  that  Ned 
Berkeley,  in  an  audible  whisper,  gave  Fannie  his 
opinion  that  a  girl's  party  wasn't  so  bad  after 
all,  and  that  May  Durrie  was  '  a  tip-top  kind  of 
a  little  thing ! ' 

Then,  just  before  they  aU  began  to  weary 
of  the  circus,  Mr.  Berkeley's  pleasant  voice  wa.s 
heard  at  the  foot  of  the  garret-stairs,  calling  out 
that  if  they  would  all  wrap  themselves  up  warmly 
the  boys  might  give  them  a  ride  down-hill  ou 
sleds,  tmtil  it  was  time  for  tea.  Was  ever  such  a 
lovely  party  known  before  ?  On  went  hats  and 
leggings,  and  after  seeing  that  the  whole  party 
were  properly  dressed  for  the  occasion,  Fannie's 
mother  opened  the  door  and  smilingly  saw  them 
off. 

The  boys  had  two  large  sleds  that  would  seat 
two  girls  at  a  time;  so  turns  were  regularly 
taken,  the  boys  dragging  the  sleds  up  the  steep 
hill  after  the  girls  had  the  fun  of  going  down. 
Such  laughter  I  Such  snowballing  !  Such  rosy 
red  cheeks  each  girl  had,  when  she  ran  back  to 
the  house,  at  the  sound  of  the  tea-bell. 

'  It  was  a  pretty  sight,'  Mr.  Berkeley  said, 
as  he  looked  about  the  tea-table  and  met  only 
pleased  faces  and  bright  smiles. 

And  such  a  tea  I  Susie  thought  she  must  re- 
member and  tell  Aunt  Louisa  all  they  had — she 
had  such  a  weakness  for  tea-parties.  First,  there 
were  hot  biscuits,  and  nice  cold  ham  and  chicken, 
and  preserved  cherries  and  peaches,  and  a  great 
glass  dish  of  '  Floating  Island '  in  tlie  centre  of 
the  table,  and  there  must  have  been  at  least  five 
kinds  of  cake  in  the  pretty  sUver  baskets.  She 
thought  she  would  count,  and  put  iip  her  hand 
for  the  beads  in  an  involuntary  sort  of  way  as 


352 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


she  numbered  them  off,  but  to  her  dismay  the  chain  was  not  there  I     She 

gave  a  sudden  cry  of  surprise,  which  sounded  so  much  like  a  groan 

that  Mrs.  Berkeley  said, — 

'  Why,  my  dear,  has  anything  happened  ?      Are   yoii  ill  ?  ' 
'  N-o,  ye-s,'  stammered  Susie,  all   the  blood   in  her  little 

body   surging   up   into   her   face    apparently  —  'that  is — 

Oh,  it's  dreadful  I — my  beads  are  gone,  and  what  shall 

I  do?'    bursting   into   tears   and   sobbing  as  if  her 

heart  would  break. 

There    was    no    more    eaten.       Kind    Mrs. 

Berkeley  hghted  lamps  and   candles,   and   a 

thorough    search   was   instituted,   upstairs 

and     down.      Every    corner    was     in- 
spected,   every    bed    turned    upside 

down,    the     doEs'    things     tossed 

out,    and    likely    and    unlikely 

places   thoroughly    scanned ; 

but     the    chain    was     no 

where     to     be     founc 

Every  girl  was  sorry 

for  Susie. 


'  Her    great- 
grand     mo 
ther's  gold 
beads! 
It 


18 

terri- 
ble, isn't 
it,        Mrs. 
Berkeley?" 
It     seems      a 
pity,'  Mrs.  Berke- 
said,   'that  your 
mother  should  have  al- 
lowed you  to  wear  such  a 
valuable    thing    to    Fannie's 
simple  little  party.      She  would 
have    every   place    searched   tho- 
roughly, however,   and   it  would  be 
found  \\'ithout  doubt.      She  was  very 
sorry,  and  especially  as   it  was  an  heir- 
loom most  likely.' 
Susie  hadn't  the  faintest  idea  of  what  an  heir- 
loom  might  be.     Probably  it  was  something 
dreadful,  or  Aunt  Louisa  wouldn't  own  it,  and 
that  made  it  all  the  harder.     Poor  Susie  I    She 
hardly  knew  herself.     How  hard  and  cruel  it 
did  seem,  just  when  she  was  having  such  a 
splendid  time,  to  have  it  all  spoiled  in  this  way  1 
And  then  she  remembered  her  aunt's  words, 
'  Depend  upon  it,  Maria,  pride  must  have  a  fall.' 
Alas  I   hers  had  come  very  quickly. 
fJ!o  ie  continued.) 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young 


3o3 


Larry  Practising;. 
z  z 


55i 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


LARRY'S   AMBITION. 

LAREY  was  ambitious  I  He  wanted  to 
get  Hs  own  living,  honestly  and  well ; 
but  Larry  bad  no  one  to  give  bim  a  start ;  be 
lived  up  a  dirty  little  court  Barnsbury  way,  and 
tbe  neighbours  there  were  not  grand  folks,  or 
people  whose  good  word  would  be  taken  as 
any  recommendation  for  a  lad  just  starting 
in  life. 

Yet  everybody  said  Larry  was  very  clever. 
Not  at  reading  and  writing,  ob,  dear  no ! 
Nothing  of  that  kind  of  cleverness ;  but  at 
turning  a  somersault,  or  dancing  a  breakdowm,  or 
any  of  tbe  mysterious  performances  in  the 
acrobatic  line,  be  was  a  wonder  to  tbe  whole 
court.  See  bow  be  practised  on  tbe  bard  pave- 
ment, till  he  could  almost  double  himself  back- 
wards !  No  other  boy — and  lots  of  them  tried — 
could  do  one  half  of  tbe  tricks  he  could. 

'  I  want  to  be  an  acrobat,'  be  said  one  day  to 
his  admu-ing  companions.  '  I  Icnow  I  could  do 
all  I've  seen  done  yet.  That  fellow  that  did  the 
back-fall  the  other  day  told  me  I  was  as  good  as 
any  he'd  ever  seen  of  my  age.' 

'  Well,  Larry,  I  don't  know  a1)out  being  an 
acrobat,  seems  to  me  it's  a  fimny  profession.  I'm 
only  Dick  Green  the  carpenter,  but  if  I  was 
you  I  should  go  to  sea  ;  you'd  make  a  first-rate 
sailor,  and,  who  knows,  might  be  captain  some 
day.' 

'  Ob,  but  sailors  want  to  know  a  lot?' 

'  Not  at  first,'  says  Dick,  '  you'd  have  to 
begin  at  tbe  beginning  ;  and  I  know  a  captain 
who'd  take  you,  and  make  a  man  of  you,  if  they 
would  let  you  go.'  * 

'  Oh,  never  fear !  they'd  be  glad  to  get  rid  of 
me — one  less  to  find  grub  for,  you  know.  I'U 
ask,  anyhow.' 

And  be  went — bis  ambition  was  satisfied ; 
and  after  two  voyages  as  ship's  boy  -u-ith  Captain 
DriscoU  he  began  to  learn  something  about 
navigation  and  the  three  E's,  reading,  'riting, 
and  'ritbmetic,  and  turned  his  climbing  and 
acrobatic  feats  to  account  in  rattling  about  the 
rigging  of  the  good  brig  Sea  Mew. 

So  he  made  bis  start,  and  Dick  Green  always 
stood  bis  friend,  afloat  and  ashore,  tiU  Lan-y, 
by  steady  good  conduct  and  quiet  persever- 
ance, had  risen  several  steps  on  the  ladder 
of  life. 

"VSTien  be  visits  bis  old  home  up  tbe  court  the 


neighbours  all  think  bim  a  grand  gentleman, 
and  remind  bim  of  bis  early  ambition;  but  he  is 
quite  content  with  his  sailor's  life,  and  would  not 
change  it  now  even  to  be  an  acrobat. 


AUNT    LOUISA'S    GOLD    BEADS. 

(Continued  from  jyage  352.) 
T  was  now  quite  dark,  the  sleigh 
was  at  the  door,  and  stiU  the 
girls  were  looking  and  lingering, 
not  caring  to  give  it  up  until 
Fannie  suggested. 
■  Look  here  now,  all  of  you ;  I  have 
idea!  Cheer  up,  Susan,  don't  you 
badly,  we  shall  find  it  in  the  morning 
before  church ;  it  must  have  dropped  off 
when  we  were  coasting  down  tbe  bill,  and  my 
brothers  toU  look  for  it  the  first  thing,  they  will 
see  it  glittering  on  top  of  the  snow.  I'll  bring 
it  up  in  the  morning,  and  then  we  can  walk 
along  to  Sunday  school  together.' 

'  Oh,  don't  I '  cried  Susie.  '  I  don't  know  what 
my  mother  will  say,'  she  went  on,  '  I  can't  tell  her 
to-night.  Please — please — Oh,  Fannie,  I'U  give 
you  my  new  pen-wiper,  and — and — anything,' 
casting  about  desperately  for  a  bribe,  '  if  you  will 
wait  and  give  it  to  me,  and  not  come  up  to  the 
house  at  all.  I  can't  teU  my  mother  a  word 
about  it.' 

'  You  dear,  siUy  Susie ! '  and  Fannie  kissed  the 
troubled  face  of  her  friend,  and  laughed  in  spite 
of  herself. 

'  Keep  your  pen-wiper  and  anything  else  you 
have.  I  wouldn't  take  them  on  any  account, 
but  I  would  teU  my  mother  if  I  were  you.' 
And  then  she  whispered  soberly,  '  I  could  never 
sleep  a  \^Tnk  if  I  didn't  tell  my  mother  every 
single  thing  I  did,  good  or  bad,  through  tbe 
day.  Why,  that  and  saying  my  prayers  are 
the  only  things  to  keep  me  right;  and  next  best 
to  telling  our  troubles  to  God,  is  to  go  to  our 
mother.  Don't  sleep  a  wink,  dear,  until  you 
tell  her  all  about  it.' 

Susie  had  only  tijie  to  whisper  back,  '  But  I've 
done  a  dreadful  thing,  Fan  1  I  couldn't  begin 
to  tell  you  how  dreadful,  and  mother  couldn't 
forgive  me,  and  Aunt  Louisa  never  would.  Oh, 
you  don't  know  anything  about  it  I  But  I'll  tell 
you  all  ih  the  morning.  Keep  tbe  chain,  please, 
and  don't  let  any  one  see  it  until  we  meet  again.' 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


355 


And  then  tlie  girls  all  ran  out  to  tlie  sleigli, 
Mr.  Berkeley  tucked  them  in  well  with  good 
warm  robes,  the  horses  tossed  their  heads,  the 
bells  jingled,  the  girls  cried  out  '  What  fun  I '  and 
Mr.  Bei'keley  ordered  '  The  longest  way  home, 
Joseph  ;  give  them  a  good  ride.  Good-night ; 
good-night,  all.' 

Oh,  what  a  lovely  party  it  would  have  been 
but  for  that  one  wrong  deed  of  jioor,  frightened 
little  Susie's. 

CHAPTER  v.— AFTER  THE  TARTY. 

'  I  knew  how  it  would  be,'  remarked  Aunt 
Louisa  at  the  breakfast-table  the  next  morning., 
'  Last  night,  when  she  came  in  from  the  sleigh- 
ride,  Susie  was  shaking  like  a  loaf.  I  thought  it 
was  with  the  cold,  but  her  hands  and  cheeks  were 
burning  when  I  felt  them.  I  did  wrong  to  advise 
you  to  let  her  go,'  she  added,  for  Aunt  Louisa, 
though  she  had  rather  a  stern  manner,  had 
really  a  land  heart,  and  she  loved  her  little 
niece  dearly,  though  in  such  a  Cjuiet  fashion 
that  it  was  rather  hard  for  Susie  to  find 
it  out. 

Susie  was  not  at  breakfast,  and  Jlr.  and  Mrs. 
Green  looked  at  each  other  anxiously  when 
Aunt  Louisa  gave  her  decided  opinion.  She 
was  the  elder  sister  of  Mr.  Green,  and  when  his 
mother  died  had  taken  her  place  in  the  large 
household,  working  for  them  and  doing  for  them 
jiTSt  as  the  mother  would  have  done  had  she 
lived.  No  one  ever  knew,  ■  but  One,  just  how 
much  of  her  own  life  this  elder  sister  gave  up 
when  she  took  upon  herself  the  burdens  that  her 
weary  mother  had  laid  down.  But  every  one 
felt  that  Aunt  Louisa  was  in  some  way  very 
near  and  dear  to  them.  If  there  was  a  sick 
child  in  the  family,  or,  for  the  matter  of  that,  out 
of  it,  Miss  Louisa,  or  '  Auntie,'  as  she  was  more 
familiarly  called,  was  sure  to  be  the  person  sent 
for.  Every  one,  except  Sirsie,  seemed  to  under- 
stand that  her  grim  little  ways  only  covered  up 
the  kindest  possible  intentions.  And  this  beauti- 
ful, bright  Sunday  morning,  when  Aunt  Louisa 
really  had  fears  that  Susie  might  be  ill,  both 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Green  were  alarmed. 

'  I  told  you,  sister  Louisa,  that  there  was  a 
great  deal  of  scarlet  fever  in  the  town,  and  Susie 
did  act  so  strangely  yesterday.  I  went  into  her 
room  this  morning  very  early,  but  her  eyes  were 
shut,  and  her  cheeks  just  as  red  as  ever ;  but 


when  I  laid  my  hand  very  softly  on  her  fore- 
head she  covered  up  her  head,  and  said 
"Don't  I"  so  fretfully,  that  I  hardly  knew 
whether  she  were  asleep  or  awake.  I  am 
worried,  Arthur,  really  wonied,'  and  Mrs. 
Green  pint  dovsTi  her  tea-cup  with  unwonted 
energy.     '  What  shall  I  do  ?' 

'  Keep  her  from  Sunday  school  and  churcli 
to-day,  dear,'  advised  Mr.  Green,  '  and  if  she  is 
no  better  at  dinner-time  I'll  send  the  doctor  up. 
I  think  you  are  needlessly  alarmed.  Why,  she 
was  as  bright  as  a  little  bird  yesterday  morning, 
and  wild  about  the  party.     I  think  she  is  tired.' 

'  Yes,  don't  worry  ! '  added  Aunt  Louisa ; 
'  very  likely  she  has  a  cold,  and  she  can  stop  at 
home  to-day  and  rest.' 

Meantime,  the  object  of  this  anxiety  was 
already  dressed,  and  standing  irresolutely  in  the 
middle  of  her  room,  asking  herself  over  and  over 
again  the  question  which  she  had  not  been  able 
to  answer  alt  through  the  long  unhappy  night, 
'  \'^^lat  shall  I  do  ?'  She  was  not  asleep  when 
her  mother  bent  over  her  so  tenderly,  but  she 
did  not  dare  open  her  eyes  and  say  what  she 
longed  so  very  much  to  say,  'Oh,  mother!  I've 
been  so  wicked  1 "  but  the  moment  the  door  closed, 
and  she  knew  the  family  were  gathered  about 
the  table,  she  sprang  up  hastily  and  began  to 
dress.  Usually  she  was  the  first  one  downstairs 
on  Sunday  mornings,  and  her  father  almost 
always  read  over  'the  Sunday-school  lessons  with 
her.  Now  it  was  late,  and  what  would  he  say 
because  she  did  not  come  down  to  breakfast? 
Perhaps  they  would  think  she  was  sick,  and  keep 
her  home  from  school ;  and  then  Fannie  would 
bring  the  chain  round  to  the  house,  and 
Aunt  Louisa  would  see  it  and  know  that  she  had 
taken  it,  and  it  would  not  be  a  joke — how  could 
she  ever  have  thought  that  it  would  ?  Oh,  dear  I 
dearl  These  thoughts  ran  through  her  mind 
like  lightning  ;  and  then  another  came,  a  more 
comforting  thought — good,  conscientious  Fannie 
Berkeley's  advice,  '  Next  to  telling  our  troubles 
to  God,  is  to  go  to  our  mother.'  She  hadn't 
told  her  troubles  to  God  yet.  Her  prayer  had 
been  very  hiuried  last  night.  She  did  not  dare 
ask  God  to  forgive  her.  She  was  afraid  to 
pray,  yet  she  knelt  do\^Ti  and  tried  to  frame  her 
frightened  thoughts  into  words,  and  then  cried 
and  sobbed  as  if  her  heart  would  break. 
{To  he  continued.) 


356 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


ENID. 


ENID  is  .a  little  heiress.  She  ^Yill  be  very 
ricli  indeed  one  day.  She  is  no  story- 
hook  child.  I  know  Enid  quite  \Yell,  and  every 
Avord  I  am  going  to  tell  you  about  her  is  true. 

She  has  an  uncle  who  loves  her  very  much, 
and  on  her  sixth  birthday  he  asked  her  what 
present  she  would  Uke.  Enid  hardly  knew ; 
she  had  so  many  presents.  But  still  she  did  not 
say,  '  Nothing,  thank  you,  Uncle,'  for  she  knew 
that  would  have  hurt  him  ;  and  somehow  Enid 
was  not  spoilt,   though  she  was  so  much  in- 


aunt  helped  her  to  play  at  keeping  school,  and 
gave  her  a  rod  to  keep  the  idle  dolls  in  order. 

Do  you  know  why  Auntie  took  so  much  pains 
over  this  game  ?  Enid  did  not,  but  she  enjoyed 
it  immensely ;  it  was  the  one  game  of  which  she 
never  tired.  But  then.  Auntie  took  care  she 
should  not,  by  inventing,  every  day,  some  new 
and  delightful  plan  for  the  doll  school,  and  this 
was  the  reason.  Everything,  as  you  know,  was 
made  as  smooth  and  pleasant  as-  possible  for 
this  only  child,  so  when  she  grew  old  enough  to 


dulged,  so  she  said, '  I  should  like  a  doll,  please.' 
(One  has  never  too  many  dolls,  you  know.) 

By-and-by  her  uncle  came  back  in  a  cab, 
and  the  cab  was  quite  full  of  dolls — doUs  of  all 
sorts,  and  shapes,  and  sizes,  and  uncle  held  the 
greatest  beauty  of  all  in  his  arms — a  babj'-doll, 
dressed  in  long  clothes.  He  was  afraid  it  might 
cry  ;  at  least  he  said  so. 

Well,  these  dolls  (there  were  twenty-eight  of 
them)  amused  Enid  for  a  day  or  two,  and  then 
she  had  other  playthings,  and  the  dolls  were  put 
away  in  the  big  nursery  cuj^board,  which  was 
already  full  of  toys.  By-and-by,  however,  all 
the  dolls  were  brought  out  again,  and  arranged 
in  a  row  along  the  mirscry  wall ;  and  now  Enid's 


be  taught  lessons,  Auntie  begged  that  '  the  dear 
child  might  not  be  worried  with  books :  she 
would  teach  her  to  read,  so  that  she  should 
never  know  she  was  doing  anything  but  playing 
a  game.' 

And  Auntie  really  did  so.  She  would  give, 
in  a  doll's  voice,  the  proper  answers  to  the  letters 
and  words  to  which  Enid  would  point,  and 
in  time  the  little  heiress  taught  herself  to 
read  very  nicely  —  a  good  deal  better  than 
Feodora  Isabella,  who  was  always  the  head 
doll  of  the  class,  as  she  was  the  biggest.  Enid 
learnt  her  French  verbs  too,  and  her  dates,  all  in 
this  way.  But  let  me  whisper  something  to 
you, — I  really  believe,  though  this  appears  to  be 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


357' 


a  very  Jeliglitful  way  of  learning,  that  your  own 
Avay  is  even  a  more  delightful  one,  for  I  would 
rather  learn  with  real,  living  children,  than  with 
the  most  beautifully  dressed  dolls  in  the  world. 
'  E.  A.  B. 

LITTLE  PEAYEES  FOE  LITTLE 
THINGS. 

ON  RECEIVING  PRAISE. 

LET  me  not  be  flattered  ;  they  who  praise 
me  see  only  my  outside  gifts,  not  my 
inward  sin.  Let  me  thank  them  for  their  good 
wishes,  and.  Lord,  help  me  to  deserve  them 
better ;  but  never  let  them  blind  me  to  my  own 
sinfulness. 


BIBLE  WOEDS. 


QU.A.TEUNIONS. 


HEROD  AGRIPPA,  the  grandson  of 
Herod  the  Great,  put  St.  Peter  in  prison, 
and  gave  the  charge  of  him  to  four  quaternions 
of  soldiers,  that  is,  four  companies  of  four  each. 
This  is  the  meaning  of  that  word  quaternion, 
four  soldiers,  who  were  appointed  to  keep 
guard  during  each  of  the  four  watches  of  the 
night. 

Of  each  quaternion,  two  were  in  the  prison, 
St.  Peter  being  chained  to  them,  and  the  other 
two  before  the  doors,  as  the  first  and  second 
guard. 


'^/m 


THE   VILLAGE    OAK. 

HOW  many  centuries  have  o'er  thee  loUed  ' 
Yet  where  thou  standest  m  thy  glouous 
prime : 
Oh !  had  each  leaf  a  tongue,  thou  might' st  unfold 
Strange  memories  of  early  time, 
Since  thy  small  acorn  burst  its  buried  rind. 
And  thy  yoimg  bud  put  forth  its  leafy  green ; 
Then  a  tall  sapling,  upright  as  a  pine, 
Eeared  thy   proud    head    amidst    the    sylvan 

scene : 
Oh  I  thou  could'st  tell  strange  tales  of  olden 

time,  I  ween. 
PuU  many  a  sorrowing  train  has   crossed  thy 
path, 


To  where  yon  churchyard  stones  are  glimmering 

white ; 
How  desolate  to  those  beside  the  hearth, 
When  shall  return  again  the  drearj'  night  1 
Thevacant  seat;  the  dear  loved  voice  hushed  quite. 
Their  greatest  treasure  lost  in  this  lost  friend : 
Perchance  with  poverty  compelled  to  fight. 
How  hard  to  think  that  this  must  be  the  end. 
Till  time  and  season   hear   the  message  Faith 

shall  send  1 


358 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


•ONLY    A   LITTLE    BOY.' 


THERE  was  at  Aiiioy  a  native  Chinese  family 
who  became  Christians.  The  j'onngest  of 
tlie  cliildreu,  a  hid  of  three  years  okl,  ashed  liis 
father  one  day  if  he  too  might  be  baptized  ;  and 
he  was  told  that  he  was  too  young,  that  he 
might  not  persevere,  for  he  was  only  a  little  boy. 
He  replied  with  a  very  sorrowful  face,  '  Jesus 
has  promised  to  carry  the  lambs  in  His  arms ;  I 


am  only  a  little  boy,  it  will  be  the  easier   for 
Jesus  to  carry  me.' 

The  earnest  words  were  too  much  for  the 
father,  and  he  took  him  with  him  to  the  English 
clergyman,  and  ere  long  the  child  was  baptized, 
and  the  whole  family,  father,  mother,  and  three 
sons,  became  all  members  of  the  Christian 
Church  at  Amoy. 


HAPPY    SUNDAY    AFTERNOONS.— No.  VIII. 
WHAT  DOES  THE  BIBLE  SAT  ABOUT  'THE  PEN  01    THE    WRITER f 

An  easy  Exercise  for  little  learners  to  turite  or  say  frovi  memory. 


SIR  WALTEB  SCOTT'S  DOG   'CAMP.' 


THE  famous  author  possessed  a  dog,  whose 
'  name,  through  his  master's  pen,  has  beeu 
handed  down  to  posterity,  as  one  who  could 
understand  the  words  and  expressions  of  human 
speech  and  language. 

'  The  wisest  dog,'  says  Sir  Walter,  '  I  ever 
had  was  what  is  called  a  bull  terrier.  I  taught 
him  to  understand  a  great  many  words;  so  many, 
indeed,  that  I  am  positive  the  communication 
between  the  canine  sjiecics  and  ourselves  might 
be  gi'eatly  enlarged. 

'  "Camp"  once  bit  the  baker,  who  was  bring- 


ing bread  to  the  family.  I  beat  Mm,  and 
explained  the  enormity  of  liis  offence,  after 
which,  to  the  last  moment  of  his  life,  he  never 
heard  the  least  allusion  to  the  story,  in  whatever 
tone  or  voice  it  was  mentioned,  without  getting 
up  and  retiring  into  the  darkest  corner  of  the 
room,  with  every  sign  of  distress. 

'  Then  if  you  said,  "  The  baker  was  well 
l)aid,"  or  "  The  baker  was  not  hurt  after  all," 
"Camp"  came  forth  from  his  hiding-place, 
capered,  and  barked,  and  rejoiced. 

'  When  he  was  unable,  towards  the  end  of 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


359 


Ms  life,  to  attend  me  wlien  on  horseback,  he  used 
to  watch  for  my  return,  and  the  servant  used  to 
tell  hini  "his  master  \vas  coming  down  the  hill," 
or  "'  through  the  moor,"  and  although  he  did  not 
lase  any  gesture  to  explain  his  meaning,  "Camp" 
was  never  Imown  to  mistake  him,  but  either 
•went  out  at  the  front  to  go  up  the  hill,  or  at  the 
back  to  get  down  the  moor  side.' 

It  was,  certainly,  a  most  singular  knowledge 
•of  spoken  language. 


GOOD    AND    ILL    NEWS. 

ILL   news   flies  on  the  swiftest  wings,  but 
good  wallvs  upon  crutches. 


CALMNESS. 

AMIDST  the  stonny  waves  of  life, 
With  all  its  endless  cares  and  stiife. 
Where  can  a  Christian  refuge  find  ? 
Or  peace  for  his  oft-troubled  mind  ? 

One  Rock  there  is,  for  ever  near — 
Trust  thou  m  Him,  and  have  no  fear ; 
Keep  close  to  Him,  nor  drift  away, 
In  life  and  death  our  Guide  and  Stay. 


LISA'S    BIKTHDAY    PARTY. 

THE  sun  was  shining  hot  and  fierce  on  the 
beautiful  gardens  attached  to  Lisa's  home. 
The  shady  walks  looked  so  cool  on  that  fierce 
August  day,  and  between  the  trees  one  could 
catch  distant  ghmpses  of  the  Ehine,  that  shone 
like  molten  silver ;  while  at  intervals  the  boom- 
ing of  a  bell  gave  warning  that  one  of  the 
pretty  white-and-green  steamers  was  passing 
lelow  to  the  landing-stage  and  jetty. 

Lisa's  father,  Herr  Signold,  had  given  her 
one  of  the  great  treats  in  her  little  life — she  was 
having  a  birthday  party  all  to  herself:  a  real 
live  birthday  party,  not  dolls,  but  dear  little 
friends  and  loving  companions.  Gretchen,  and 
Stephen,  and  Ludwig,  and  Lisbeth,  and  many 
more,  ah  were  there ;  and  in  order  that  Lisa 
and  her  company  might  be  more  happy  and 
free,  her  father  had  taken  her  mother  to  Bonn 
for  the  day,  on  a  visit  to  one  of  the  Professors  at 
the  University  there. 

Oh  the  fun  the  children  had,  and  how  happy 
they  were  1 

First,  there  were  all  Lisa's  presents  arranged 


on  a  sofa  and  table  in  the  salon,  and  they  had  to 
be  admired ;  while  Marie,  the  old  nurse,  kept 
guard  to  see  that  no  damage  was  done.  There 
were  boxes  of  fruits,  dolls,  pictures,  a  little  silver 
cross,  a  new  dress  and  parasol,  some  Chinese 
ivory  carvings  from  Uncle  Karl,  the  great  sea- 
captain  ;  and  little  bouquets,  and  birthday  cards, 
and  souvenirs,  from  every  one  of  Lisa's  little 
friends  and  acquaintances.  Never  was  there 
such  a  show. 

After  seeing  these,  then  thei-e  was  lunch  laid 
out  for  the  little  ones  in  one  of  the  arbours  in 
the  garden  at  the  end  of  the  chestnut  walk — 
fruits  and  cakes,  and  iced  waters  and  lemonade  ; 
and  Lisa  was  hostess,  and  did  all  the  honours 
of  the  repast  like  a  little  six-j'ear  old  queen. 
Even  old  Erdmann  enjoyed  himself,  in  spite  of 
himself. 

■Old  Erdmann?'  you  say.  'Why,  who's 
he  ?  You  haven't  mentioned  him.'  No,  '  I 
forgot.  Erdmann  is  the  faithful  doggie,  now- 
grown  rather  old  and  disagreeable,  and  in  con- 
sequence he  has  a  very  unhappy  way  of  rushing 
at  visitors,  and  half-frightening  them  out  of 
their  wits ;  not  really  biting  them,  but  maldng 
believe.  So  Lisa  has  him  in  a  lead ;  she  is 
obliged  to,  in  order  to  protect  her  little  friends 
from  his  kind  attentions.  But  this  afternoon, 
with  so  many  visitors  about,  Erdmann  is  nearly 
wild,  and  insists  upon  entangling  liimself  round 
his  mistress's  legs  so  rejieatedly,  that  she  once 
or  twice  came  near  falling  so  as  to  hurt  herself. 

At  length,  after  lunch  and  desert,  all  is 
arranged  for  a  quiet  afternoon,  and  then  they  all 
sit  round  in  a  ring  on  the  lawn,  with  Lisa  in 
the  middle,  and  all  in  turn  give  her  their  '  con- 
gratulations.' And  very  pretty,  loving  little 
speeches  they  are,  and  Lisa  Signold  is  made  one 
of  the  happiest  little  maidens  in  all  the  Rhine- 
land. 

Then,  as  the  sun  begins  to  droop  in  the  west, 
out  comes  Nurse  Marie  for  them  all,  and  in  they 
all  troop  for  the  last  birthday  present,  which 
Lisa  receives  on  both  cheeks  from  each  one. 

'  Adieu,  little  one  1 '  cries  Gretchen,  with  a 
kiss  and  a  kiss.  And  Stephen  and  Lud■^^'ig 
each  claim  her  for  one  parting  greeting. 

'  Marie,"  says  little  Lisa  from  beneath  the 
snowy  sheets,  while  nurse  is  folding  up  the  little 
frock,  '  Marie,  I  think  God  is  very  good  to  me. 
Don't  you  think  so  ? '  Xav. 


SCO 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


Erdmanu  in  Trouble. 


Sunday  Readijsig  for  the  Young. 


3G1 


's>-M  -, 


■    ■}j.-'' 


tin* 


^/ 


^      I  .,_•  ■■■v:iB*iii.i:-., 


'''"'''       ''—■•-"    'l?'-./^  ■/.  " 


Jules  and  Julie. 


3G2 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


JULES   AND   JULIE. 

THERE  was  one  thing  tliat  always  puzzled 
little  Monsieui'  Jules  Garrard,  as  lie  took 
liis  daily  walk  witli  his  nurse  in  the  beautiful 
gardens  of  his  French  home,  and  this  puzzle 
was  the  gardener's  child.  She  had  been  born  on 
the  same  day  as  Jules,  baptized  at  the  same 
church,  and  almost  received  the  same  name,  for 
she  was  called  Julie ;  and  yet  she  was  in  all 
respects  so  different  to  him. 

Jules  was  as  yet  almost  too  young  to  under- 
stand that  poor  Julie  was  an  idiot  child,  and 
that  thongh  she  was  loved  and  cherished  with 
an  equal  love  to  that  showered  on  the  little 
monsieur  of  the  chateau,  she  was  unconscious  of 
it  all,  and  could  only  twist  and  fidget  herself 
about,  from  one  day's  end  to  another.  She  could 
not  even  walk,  but  was  wheeled  in  her  perambu- 
lator into  the  sun :  and  then,  when  she  felt  its 
warm  rays,  she  would  cease  moaning,  and  rock 
herself  to  and  fro  after  her  sad,  strange  fashion. 

One  dajr,  whilst  his  nvu-se  stroUed  on  to 
search  for  early  violets,  Jules  approached  the 
perambulator,  and  holding  up  a  fat  little  finger 
in  a  warning  mamier,  said  impressively, — 

'  Julie '.  Julie  I  don't  fidget  like  that.  I 
mayn't  fidget  when  I  go  out  in  my  perambu- 
lator, and  you  should  not  either.' 

But  Julie,  poor  child  I  did  not  understand, 
and  went  on  with  her  monotonous  rocking. 
After  staring  in  surprise  for  a  few  moments, 
Jules  ran  to  join  his  nurse ;  but  though  he  said 
nothing  then,  he  thought  a  great  deal  of  his  little 
namesake. 

'  Will  Julie  go  to  Heaven  ? '  he  asked  his 
mother  tliat  night,  after  he  had  said  his  prayers ; 
'  she  seems  so  stupid  and  naughty.' 

'  Poor  little  Julie ! '  said  his  mother,  gently  ; 
'  I  think  her  mind  is  already  in  Heaven,  and  I 
trust  her  poor  body  wll  soon  follow.' 

'  But  then  why  did  she  come  down  to  earth  ? ' 
persisted  Jules. 

'  I  can't  say,'  said  his  mother ;  'it  is  one  of 
the  puzzles  that  God  lets  us  have  in  this  world. 
Perhaps  one  of  Julie's  works  here  may  be 
to  teach  my  boy  that  that  poor  child — 
"  naughty  and  stupid  "  as  he  calls  her- — ^may  be 
nearer  Heaven  than  my  healthy,  happy  Jules.' 

Jules  said  no  moi'c,  but  he  kissed  his  mother 
very  quickly  and  lovingly. 

The  next  time  Jides  went  to  the  gardener's 


lodge  a  little  procession  was  passing  from  the 
gate,  and  a  tiny  coffin,  covered  with  sweet  flowei's, 
held  the  still,  quiet  body  of  the  once  restless 
Julie. 

Jules  took  off  his  hat  as  his  namesake's  coflhi 
passed,  and  then  running  u]j  to  the  gardener, 
who  was  walking  sadly  behind,  the  little  boy 
whispered,  '  Mother  was  right ;  Julie  lias  got  to 
Heaven  before  me  :  but  we  will  follow,  won't  we, 
Jean?'  E.  A.  B. 


AUNT  LOUISA'S   GOLD  BEADS. 

(Goiitimied  from  imge  355.) 

THERE  her  mother  found  her  when  she 
opened  the  door  softly  to  see  if  she  was 
still  sleeping.  Susie  heard  the  light  foot-fall, 
but  she  did  not  rise  from  her  knees ;  she  only 
bm'ied  her  head  in  the  bed-clothes  and  sobbed 
more  bitterly  than  before. 

In  a  moment  Mrs.  Gi;een  was  by  her  side,  her 
arms  about  her  neck,  and  the  tired,  aching  head 
pressed  against  her  own. 

'  Something  is  wrong,  darling,'  she  whispered, 
'  but  you  have  been  trying  the  surest  way  to 
make  it  right.  Now,  cannot  you  tell  your 
mother,  too'?' 

'  Oh,  I  am  so  unhappy'.'  confessed  Susie.  '  I 
couldn't  sleep  last  night,  and  I  haven't  had  a 
minute's  peace.  I  have  been  so  wicked !  so 
wicked !'  she  moaned. 

Again  her  mother  said,  '  Cannot  my  little 
daughter  trust  me  ?  ' 

Susie  opened  her  lips  two  or  three  times,  but 
it  seemed  impossible  to  say  those  few  words.  No, 
no,  she  would  wait  imtil  Fannie  gave  her  the 
chain,  and  then  she  would  tell  her  mother  all 
about  it.  If  she  told  her  now,  when  the  chain 
was  lost,  it  surely  would  seem  like  a  theft ;  but 
if  it  were  put  back,  why  that  would  be  borrow- 
ing. Oh,  that  wouldn't  seem  half  so  bad ;  and 
the  two  voices,  the  good  and  the  bad,  were 
whispering  again  in  her  ear.  Again — alas  that 
it  should  be  so  I — Susie  weakly  listened  to  the 
bad  voice. 

'  Mother,'  she  said,  '  I  always  tell  you  every- 
thing, don't  I '?  Haven't  I  been  a  good  girl,  and 
always  tried  to  please  you  ?  ' 

'  Yes,  dear  child,'  acquiesced  her  mother, 
wondering  if  scarlet  fever  develojicd  itself  this 
way;    wondering   if  her   poor  little   daughter 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


3G3 


•were  really  oxit  of  licr  mind.  '  If  yoii  have  done 
anything  ^^Tong,  dear,  and  have  asked  God  to 
forgive  you,  He  snrely  wiD,  if  you  ask  Him 
aright ;  but  why  may  you  not  tell  me  all  j'our 
troubles  ?  'VYho  can  comfort  and  help  you,  next 
to  God,  hke  your  own  mother '?' 

Fannie's  very  words !  and  yet  the  bad  voice 
said,  '  Don't  tell  her  now ;  surely  it  will  be  time 
enoiigh  when  Fannie  brings  the  beads,  and  it's 
such  a  very  little  while  to  wait ;  and  maybe 
they  will  all  laugh,'  and  take  it  as  a  good  joke, 
that  you  tricked  Aunt  Louisa  so  cleverly. 
Besides,  it  was  very  cross  of  your  auntie — you 
know  it  was,  and  you've  served  her  just  right, 
after  all.' 

'But  then,'  Susie  argued,  'it  is  such  a  good 
time  to  tell.'  Her  flushed  cheek  was  pressed 
against  her  mother's,  whose  arms  were  around 
her  so  Icindly, — there  really  could  be  bo  better 
time  to  unburden  her  heart ;  and  yet  she  hesi- 
tated. What  would  her  mother  say  ?  Would 
she  ever  feel  that  she  could  take  her  to  her  heart 
and  trust  her  again  ?  The  poor  child  did  not 
in  the  least  understand  that  depth  of  love  that 
prompted  forgiveness,  not  once  only,  nor  seven 
times,  but  seventy  times  seven.  She  was  afraid 
that  even  her  own  mother  would  turn  against 
her  if  she  told  the  truth. 

'  Mother,'  she  cried,  starting  up,  '  I  must  go 
to  Sunday  school  now.  I  want  to  see  Fannie 
Berkeley.  After  I  have  seen  her,  I'll  tell  you  all 
about  it.' 

'  I  hope  you  and  Fannie  have  had  no 
difficulty,'  said  Mrs.  Green.  '  Did  anything 
happen  to  offend  you  at  the  party  yesterday? 
Fannie  is  such  a  good  child,  I  cannot  think  she 
would  do  anything  to  wound  you.' 

And  the  mother  was  conscious  of  a  great 
revulsion  of  feeling.  Probably  it  was  some 
girlish  quarrel,  and  Susie  was  broken-hearted 
over  it.  So  she  kissed  her  again,  and  was 
much  relieved. 

'You  can  tell  me  whenever  you  please — to- 
day or  to-morrow — whenever  Fannie  pleases,  or 
■whenever  you  choose  to  confide  in  me  ;  but  I 
am  afraid  I  cannot  let  you  go  to  Sunday  school 
to-day.' 

'  Mother,  I  must  1 '  said  Susie,  springing  up. 
'  Do,  do,  please,  let  me  go.  If  I  can  only  see 
Fannie  for  a  moment,  then  it  will  be  all  right.' 

'  But  I  will  send  for  her,  dear.' 


'  No  I  no  I  I  don't  want  her  to  come  here,' 
said  Susie,  half  crying.  '  Aunt  Louisa  will  be 
sure  to  see  her.' 

'  And  why  should  not  Aunt  Louisa  see  her? ' 
asked  the  puzzled  mother.  '  Auntie  is  fond  of 
Fannie,  and  I  am  sorry  indeed  that  you  have  had 
any  difficulty  with  such  a  dear  good  child  as  she 
has  always  seemed  to  be.  But  I  trust  you  will 
soon  have  everything  straight ;  and  whenever  I 
can  help  you,  dear,  I  will  do  so ;  only  you  must 
tell  me  all  about  it  to-morrow  or  the  next  day.' 

'  Yes,  mother,  I  suiely  will.' 

Poor  child  '.  It  seemed  so  much  better  to  defer 
the  dreaded  explanation  ;  but  when  she  wanted 
to  dress  and  go  to  Sunday  school,  Mrs.  Green 
promptly  refused.  She  was  not  quite  sure  in 
her  o-wn  mind  about  the  scarlet  fever  yet ;  and 
poor  Susie  had  to  undergo  another  ordeal — the 
questioning,  the  petting,  and  the  anxiety  of  her 
father,  coupled  with  the  imusual  tenderness  and 
attention  of  Aunt  Louisa.  The  latter  ■  insisted 
upon  sending  up  a  great  bowl  of  gruel,  and 
was  not  satisfied  until  her  niece  had  eaten  it  all. 

Susie  did  not  dare  refuse  to  take  it ;  indeed, 
she  was  so  tortured  by  the  fear  that  Fannie 
would  bring  the  beads  to  her  mother  before 
church  time,  that  she  fairly  worked  herself  into 
a  fever.  She  went  down  to  the  sitting-room 
and  stood  by  the  window,  waiting,  with  a 
beating  heart,  for  Fannie.  It  would  be  nothing 
tmusual  for  her  to  stop,  as  the  children  very 
frequently  went  to  Sunday  school  together ;  no 
one  would  question  her ;  and  mother  and  auntie 
finally  went  off  upstairs  to  dress  for  church ; 
while  Mr.  Green,  relieved  by  his  wife's  whis- 
pered '  I  don't  think  her  sick ;  some  child's 
quarrel,'  had  seated  himself,  with  a  book.  Susie 
wondered  what  could  be  keei^ing  Fannie.  Surely 
she  might  have  hurried  just  for  once !  but  the 
beUs  had  nearly  finished  ringing  before  she 
turned  the  corner  of  the  long  street.  Susie 
watched  her  with  a  glad  feehng  of  release  from 
pain,  but  the  next  thought  was,  would  her 
father  forbid  her  going  to  the  door  ?  Would  he 
listen  and  hear  what  they  were  going  to  say  ? 
What  should  she  do  then  ?  But  no,  Mr.  Green 
saw  the  evident  anxiety  of  his  only  child,  and 
when  Fannie's  bright  face  appeared  in  the  open 
doorway  he  only  stooped  and  kissed  the  cold, 
rosy  cheek,  as  he  said,  '  Susie  wants  to  see  you 
alone,  I  believe,'  then  kindly  disappeared. 
(To  be  continued.) 


3G4 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


■  1        lis 

H 

P 

ill          19 

THE    SCORPION. 

MONGST  the  Saxons  of  olden 


time  October  was  called  Wyn- 
moneth,  orWiiie-montli,  and  in 
some  old  Saxon  calendars  Oc- 
tober is  pictured  as  a  husband- 
man carrying  a  sack  on  his 
shoulders,  and  sowing  corn — 
expressive  of  the  season  being 
the  proper  time  for  that  work. 

In  more  modern  pictures  he  is  a  man  clothed 
in  a  robe  of  the  colour  of  withering  leaves,  with 
a  garland  of  oak  branches  and  acorns  on  his 
head.  In  his  left  hand  is  a  basket  of  chestnuts, 
medlars,  and  other  autumnal  fruits  ;  and  in  his 
right  the  zodiacal  sign,  Scorpio,  which  the  sun 
enters  on  the  23rd  of  the  month. 

Scorpio  is  the  Latin  word  for  scorpion,  one  of 
the  venomous  reptiles  that  infest  hot  countries, 
in  form  much  like  a  lobster,  which  carries  a 
deadly  sting  within  its  tail,  and,  if  we  may 
believe  the  nan-atives  of  those  who  have  watched 
its  habits,  it  sometimes  tunis  its  venom  on 
itself,  and  stings  itself  to  death. 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


365 


Canty   Bay. 


3G6 


Slwdav  Readixg  for  the  Young. 


CANTY    BAY,    NORTH 

AEOCK-BOUND  coast,  and  ragged  cliffs, 
And  ocean's  roar. 
From  morn  to  night,  wtli  Iningry  lash. 

Upon  the  shore ; 
The  wild  l.iirds  cry,  and  whii'ling  coiarse 

All  through  the  air, 
Seeldng  their  prej'  amid  the  storm 

Their  only  care. 
On  rocky  islands  all  around 

They  build  their  nest. 
And  on  the  edge  of  beetling  cliffs 

Their  fledglings  rest. 

But  now  there  breaks  upon  the  ej'C 

A  scene,  so  fair, 
Of  sunny  beauty,  verdant  slopes. 

Flecked  here  and  there 
With  joyous  sunbeam,  dancing  o'er 

The  grass  so  green. 


BERWICK,    SCOTLAND. 

All  dotted  o'er  with  cowslip  sweet 

And  primi'ose  sheen  ; 
A  little  stretch  of  gulden  saud 

Lies  calm  and  still. 
And  cottage  roofs  smile  peacefully 

Beiow  the  hill. 

•    Again  this  fairy  scene  is  lost 

As  we  pass  by, 
'Mid  rocks'  wild  frown,  and  crested  wave. 

And  sea-birds'  cry ; 
Then  bold  '  Tantallon '  comes  in  sight, 

In  ruins  gray. 
Its  glories  vanished  like  a  dream, 

And  gone  for  aye  : 
But  there  it  stands,  ca  monument 

Of  ages  hoary, 
Where  hearts  have  loved,  and  oft  have  toliT 

'  The  old,  sweet  story.' 

JoAXXA  McKeax 


'ir    YOU    PLEASE.' 

ACHEISTIAN  missionary  in  India  relates, 
that  in  the  course  of  his  labours  among 
the  Hindoos  a  poor  youth  followed  him  about 
the  garden,  or  compound,  of  the  school,  asking 
him  to  make  him  a  Christian.  He  replied,  '  It 
is  impossible,  ni}'  dear  boy:  if  it  be  possible  at 
all,  it  can  only  be  through  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ. 
He  can  do  it,  none  else ;  pray  to  Him.' 

Then  the  -missionary  writes,  how  well  ho 
recollects  the  sweet  voice  and  face  of  the  poor 
boy  when  he  came  to  him  soon  afterwards,  and 
said,  '  The  Lord  Jesus  Christ  has  taken  His 
place  in  mj'  heart.' 

'How  is  that  ?' 

'  Ah,'  he  rejilied,  '  I  prayed,  and  said,  "  Oh. 
Lord  Jesus  Christ,  if  you  please,  make  me  a 
Christian  I  "  and  He  was  so  kind  that  He  came 
down  from  heaven,  and  has  lived  in  my  heart 
ever  since.' 

How  simjile  and  touching  I  '  Lord  Jesus  Christ, 
if  you  please,  make  me  a  Christian  I '  Can  t/mi 
say  your  prayers  are  like  his,  and  that  the  dear 
Lord  Jesus  has  come  down  from  heaven  to  live 
in  your  hearts '? 

A  PERSIAN    FABLE. 

The  safest  mode  of  dealing  with  a  quarrelsome 
jierson  is  to  keep  out  of  his  ■v^•ay. 


LITTLE  PRAYERS  FOR  LITTLE 
THINGS, 

AT  XOOX. 

HOW  is  the  day  going?  Have  I  thought 
of  God  even  once  since  I  was  on  my 
knees  this  morning  '}  If  I  never  lift  up  my 
heart  at  mid-day,  it  may  be  that  my  morning 
and  evening  prayers  are  only  formal.  Oh,  my 
soul,  hast  thoii  not  one  moment  for  thy  Saviour 
at  noon  ? 


A    STORY   OF    CHRISTMAS    EVE. 

BEOOKLANDS  was  a  fine  old  mansion 
belonging  to  the  Mervin  family,  whoso 
ancestors  for  hundreds  of  years  had  owned  the 
park  and  surromiding  lands  that  formed  the 
home  farm. 

On  a  very  cold  day  in  December,  in  a 
certain  year,  a  number  of  people  might  have 
been  seen  sporting  and  enjoying  themselves  on 
the  ice  of  the  home  pond,  an  ornamental  lake 
close  to  the  house. 

This  was  very  unusual,  but  was  accounted 
for  by  the  fact,  that  the  ice  being  uncommonly 
strong  and  safe.  Sir  Eichard  Mervin  had  given, 
to  all  who  wished  to  do  so,  free  permission  to 
skate  and  slide,  and,  in  fact,  to  enjoy  the  ice. 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


367 


It  was  the  day  before  Christmas  Day,  and  all 
the  neighbours,  young  and  old,  seemed  glad  to 
avail  themselves  of  the  permission  given,  and 
gathered  on  the  frozen  lake. 

Alice  and  Harold,  our  hero  and  heroine,  were 
■children  whose  parents,  like  many  others,  had 
given  them  permission  to  go  on  the  ice,  because 
it  was  so  thick  and  safe  ;  but  they  were  to  be 
ready  when  John,  the  old  coachman,  came  to 
fetch  them  at  four  o'clock,  for  the  days  get  dark 
so  soon  in  December. 

They  thoroughly  enjoyed  their  fun,  for  they 
were  constantly  saying  '  How  d'ye  do  ? '  to  lots 
of  people  they  knew,  and  Alice  got  several  rides 
•on  a  little  sleigh  that  Colonel  Parker  had  brought 
•on  the  ice ;  whilst  Harold  enjoyed  even  the 
tumbling  down,  for  as  it  was  his  first  attempt  in 
skates  he  fell  many  times,  but  so  lightly  he 
never  hurt  himself  once. 

Pleasures,  however,  like  everything  else  come 
to  an  end ;  and  the  eve  of  Christmas  arrived  at 
Jast,  when  the  shadows  of  the  tall  trees  in 
Brooklands  Park  began  to  deepen,  and  the 
■children  were  fain  to  go  and  find  John,  who 
was  sure  to  be  waiting  for  them  by  the  stable- 
gate. 

They  said  '  Good-bye '  in  quite  fashionable 
style  to  all  their  fi-iends,  and  Alice  thanked  the 
Colonel  for  his  sleigh-ride  so  prettily  that  he 
,:gave  her  an  extra  kiss  at  parting;  which  was  a 
grand  conquest  for  her,  for  the  old  Colonel  was 
A'ery  chary  of  his  kisses ;  but  he  had  quite 
made  a  favoui-ite  of  Alice,  and  said  he  must  see 
them  safe  into  the  can-iage,  and  say  good-bye. 

And  S'j  they  di-ove  off,  Harold  waving  his  hat 
■■  at  the  Colonel  as  they  turned  the  corner  of  the 
•  drive. 

They  had  not  a  long  drive,  some  three  or 
four  miles  from  Brooklands,  but  just  beyond  the 
park  was  a  very  steep  hill,  up  which  careful  old 
John  always  walked  his  horses  at  their  own 
pace. 

The  children  were  full  of  merriment  and  fmi, 
and,  perhaps,  that  made  both  of  them  thought- 
less, for  just  as  they  came  to  the  steepest  part  of 
the  hill,  Harold  cried,  ■'  I  say,  Alice,  let's  have  a 
joke  and  get  out,  up  the  liill.'  No  sooner  said 
than  done,  and  opening  the  door  they  jumped 
out,  fortunately  without  hurting  themselves,  and 
Harold  -was  able  to  close  the  door  without  John 
noticing  him.     Once  on  the  top  of  the  hill  they 


would  frighten  old  John,  by  calling  to  him  to 
stop,  and  then  they  would  get  in  again. 

The  can-iage,  however,  went  a  little  faster 
than  they  walked,  and  so  when  the  top  of  the 
hill  v/as  reached,  and  John  touched  his  horses 
with  the  whip  and  put  them  to  a  trot,  he  was 
unable  to  hear  the  slwuts  from  behind ;  and 
down  the  hill  went  he  and  the  carriage  at  a 
rattling  pace,  leaving  the  young  jokers  running 
their  hardest  in  the  road. 

'  I  say,  this  is  no  joke,'  said  Harold  at  last ; 
while  Alice  felt  very  much  inclined  to  cry. 
'  Never  mind,  we'll  walk  it  I '  and  he  bravely 
took  his  sister's  arm. 

But  they  were  tired  with  their  skating  and 
running,  and  the  road  was  heavy  with  snow 
and  ice,  which  had  been  worked  up  into  slush 
by  the  many  wheels  that  had  passed  over  it ; 
and  so  it  came  to  pass  that  they  had  gone  scarce 
half  a  mile  before  both  were  too  tired  to  take 
another  step. 

Harold  bravely  ^^Tapped  his  thick  coat  round 
bis  sister's  shoulders,  and  then  they  found  a 
snug  corner  under  a  big  tree-trunk  out  of  the 
wind,  and  sat  them  down  to  wait.  O  the 
weary  time  I  they  had  thought  with  glee  of  the 
fun  it  would  be  when  John  heard  them  shouting 
behind  him,  now  they  talked  of  what  he  would 
do  when  he  found  the  carriage  empty  at  the 
hall  door. 

'What  will  they  say,  Harold?  They  wiU 
never  guess  the  truth,  dear ;  they  will  never 
look  for  us  here.' 

'  Let  us  say  our  prayer  together,  Alice,  and 
then  I  think  I  could  go  to  sleep,  I'm  so  tired, 
and  God  will  take  care  of  us  if  we  aslc  Him.' 

'  It  was  naughty  though,  Harold,  because  we 
shall  give  such  pain  to  them  all  at  home  ;  but  if 
we  are  sorry  they  will  forgive  us,  perhaps.  We 
will  tell  them  exactly  the  truth,  and  how  it  was; 
but  we  have  spoilt  our  Christmas  Eve.' 

And  so  they  prayed  their  prayer  and  talked; 
and  presently  Harold  fell  asleep,  with  his  head 
resting  on  his  sister's  shoulder ;  and  there  they 
were  found  cold,  it  is  true,  and  penitent,  but 
none  the  worse  for  their  foolish  freak,  which, 
when  the  truth  was  told,  was  freely  forgiven ; ' 
and  the  Christmas  EJve  was  not  quite  spoilt  after 
all,  for  it  was  only  seven  o'clock  when  thej-  got 
home,  although  the  hour  spent  by  the  wa3fside 
seemed  to  them  an  age.  Xav. 


368 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


Harold  tumbles  pretty  often. 


Sunday  ReadiiXC  for  the  Young. 


369 


■■'^^^^^^*&M. 


Friendless. 


3b 


370 


Sunday  Readixg  for  the  Young. 


FRIENDLESS  ! 

ON :  on :  on : 
Throiigli  tlie  sim   and  tlie   rain  and 
snow : 
Will  Ms  joiu'ney  never  be  done, 

Here  on  the  eartli  below  ? 
A  poor  little  tramp  is  lie, 

Wan,  and  ragged,  and  thin ; 
A  sorrowful  sight  to  see, 
And  pity  he  onght  to  win  I 

How  harden'd  the  world  must  be  ! 

How  callous  to  all  that's  good ! 
When  such  suffering  it  can  see. 

And  grudge  him  both  rest  and  food  I 
Is  he  an  outcast  quite  ? 

Is  he  not  human,  too  '? 
Living  with  equal  right — ■ 

Worthy,  perhaps,  as  you  ? 

Ah,  j'es  I  there  is  never  a  doubt 

The  world  is  bitter  and  cold  ; 
Its  fairest  picture  on  earth 

Is  the  glitter  of  silver  and  gold  \ 
Poor  little  friendless  tramp  I 

Take  heart  I    There  are  realms  far  away, 
All  free  from  the  cold  and  damp, 

Where  is  bliss  for  ever  and  aye  ! 

Edwakd  Oxexfoed. 


SUNDAYS    IH    QUARANTINE. 

m. 

ILTARY.  I  like  your  story  very  much,  Lina, 
and  as  Hugh  is  not  ready  with  his,  may  I 
come  next  ? 

Lina.  Certainly.  I  am  longing  to  know  what 
yon  have  thought  of. 

Mary.  I  think  it  is  rather  a  sad  tale  that  I 
have  fixed  on.  It  is  about  two  English  boj's : 
one  was  Hugh's  age,  and  the  other  was  yoimger. 
I  tluuk  he  must  have  been 

Charlie  (interrupting).  Five,  Mary?  Po  tell 
about  a  boy  of  five. 

Marij.  I  will  some  other  time,  Charlie,  but 
l.his  boy  I  am  spcalring  of  now  was  really  much 
older  than  you  are :   I  think  he  was  eleven. 

Hugh.  Go  on,  Mary,  it  sounds  promising;  I 
like  hearing  about  boys  of  my  own  age. 

Mary.  These  two  boys  had  just  come  out  of 
school  at  twelve  o'clock,  and  on  their  way  home 
they  had  to  pass  by  the  church. 


They  saw  the  doors  open  and  peeped  in.  Ee- 
pairs  were  going  on  inside,  and  the  workmen  had 
brought  very  long  ladders  to  reach  the  roof. 

Charlie.  As  long  as  that  one  that  they  put 
against  our  chimney  the  other  day  ? 

Mary.  Yes,  quite.  Well,  the  men  had  gone 
away  to  their  dinner,  and  these  two  boys  thought 
they  would  climb  up  the  ladders  and  have  a  look 
at  the  great  beams  overhead. 

Hugh.  I  laiow  how  the  story  ends : — the 
Vicar  came  in  and  caught  them  up  there. 

Lina.  Hugh,  dear,  I  think  Mary  had  better 
finish  telling  about  it,  even  if  you  do  Imow  th& 
ending. 

Mary.  He's  every  bit  wrong,  Lina.  It  would 
not  be  so  sad  a  tale  if  that  was  all. 

The  boys  went  up,  and  when  they  had 
reached  the  top  where  the  ladder  leant  against 
the  crossbeam  they  felt  cpiite  dizzy,  the  church 
floor  below  looked  so  far  away.  But  they  soon 
grew  more  daring  and  ventured  to  climb  about. 

Farther  on  were  some  planks,  which  the 
worlanen  were  using  for  scaffolding;  they  slid 
carefully  on  the  beams  as  far  as  these,  and  then 
got  safely  on  to  one  of  the  boards,  where  they  sat 
down  to  rest. 

By-and-by  they  thought  they  heard  the  work- 
men coming  back,  and  they  set  to  work  at  once 
to  return  to  the  ladder.  The  board  on  which 
they  had  been  sitting  slipped  from  under  them, 
and  both  boys  were  fast  going  down  with  it. 

Lina.  Oh,  Mary!    Did  they  fall  to  the  bottom? 

Mary.  The  plank  did  not  slip  very  fast  just 
at  first,  and  the  older  boy  had  time  to  stretch 
oirt  his  arms  and  seize  the  beam  near  him.-  The 
boy  of  eleven  was  not  close  enough  to  be  able  tO' 
hold  on  to  that,  so,  in  his  terror,  he  clutched  one 
of  the  other's  legs  and  clung  on  to  it  as  a  sailor 
does  to  the  mast. 

Lina.  They  could  not  remainlongin  that  posi- 
tion.    Did  the  workmen  come  in  and  save  them  ?' 

Mary.  The  big  boy  hung  on  for  two  or  three 
minutes,  and  then  he  told  the  young  one  that  his 
arms  felt  as  if  they  were  breaking  and  that  he 
must  let  go.  '  Is  it  because  of  my  weight  ? 
Could  you  held  on  a  little  longer  if  I  were  not 
clinging  to  you  ? '  asked  the  other  boy. 

'  I  think  I  could.'  No  more  was  said  except 
'  Good-bye.'  which  was  the  yoimger  boy's  last 
utterance  as  he  let  go  his  hold  and  fell  to  the 
stone  floor,  seventy  feet  below. 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


371 


Sugh.  "V^Tiat  a  noWe  fellow  I 

Mary.  The  other  was  rescued.  Just  when 
he  felt  he  could  hold  on  no  longer  the  worlonen 
■came  hack  and  saved  him. 

Lina.  That  was  a  nohle  act  of  the  young 
boy's.  He  deliberately  sacrificed  his  own  life  to 
save  his  companion's.  I  hope  the  big  boy  did  not 
forget,  in  after  life,  his  friend's  brave  deed.  The 
fall  must  have  killed  the  poor  little  boy  at  once. 
It  is  better  to  think  so  ;  I  should  not  like  him  to 
have  lived  to  be  a  cripple  for  the  rest  of  his  days. 

Lina.  Charlie  enjoys  these  anecdotes  so  much. 
I  am  sure,  Hugh,  you  must  own  he  is  as  grave  a 
listener  as  any  of  us. 

Hugh.  Yes,  that  lie  is.  I  had  no  idea  the 
little  chap  could  sit  so  still.  How  he  does  open 
his  eyes  at  some  parts  of  the  stories  I  He  very 
nearly  cried  when  Mary  told  about  the  boy's  fall 
from  the  ladder,  and  has  run  away  to  hide  his 
tears. 

Lina.  I  saw  foal's  very  near  the  surface,  and 
that  is  why  I  did  not  continue  discussmg  that 
tale.  All  those  stories  of  heroes  have  some 
points  that  are  hardly  suitable  for  so  tiny  a  child 
-as  Charlie  to  hear,  but  he  begged  so  hard  to  be 
allowed  to  join  us. 

Mary.  But,  Lina,  if  the  tales  are  sometimes 
piteous  they  are  all  true,  and  not  nearly  so  sad 
as  some  parts  of  the  Bible.  No  child  is  too 
young  to  be  told  those  stories,  so  I  don't  think 
our  stories  will  hurt  Charlie,  as  they  are  about 
the  deeds  of  only  good  people. 

Lina.  Well,  perhaps  not;  and  as  he  is  not 
here  to  listen,  I  think  I  must  tell  you  of  a  very 
pretty  conversation  I  overheard  the  other  day 
between  him  and  the  bricklayer. 

Hugh.  The  man  who  came  to  put  on  the 
■chimney-pot  ? 

Lina.  Yes.  He  was  a  long  time  fixing  the 
Jadder,  and  Charlie  watched  him  eagerly  the 
whole  time.  When  at  last  the  man  was  ready 
to  mount  it,  Charlie  looked  at  him  veiy  earnestly 
•and  said,  •'  Aren't  you  afraid  to  go  up  such  a 
very  tall  ladder  as  that?'  The  man  seemed 
puzzled  what  answer  to  make,  but  before  lie  had 
time  to  consider  much,  Charlie  broke  in  again, 
^  Oh,  I  forgot  I  Of  course,  you're  not ;  you  said 
your  prayers  this  morning.' 

Hugh.  Whatever  did  the  man  say  in  reply  ? 

Lina.  He  smiled  and  answered,  '  I  will  think 
■of  that,  little  master,  when  I  am  up  on  the  roof.' 


Mary.  How  nice  of  Charlie!  He  often  makes 
such  funny  remarks.  Nurse  calls  them  '  old- 
fashioned,'  but  I  like  to  hear  them.  He  told  me 
the  other  day  that  Saint  Peter  in  prison  was  the 
'  poorest '  story  he  had  ever  heard. 

Hugh.  Whatever  did  he  mean  ? 

Mary.  Don't  you  understand  ?  We  always 
say  poor  thing  when  we  express  pity  for  any 
animal,  or  poor  So-and-so  if  it  is  a  man  we  are 
sorry  for.  Charlie  felt  so  sorry  for  Saint  Peter 
shut  up,  as  to  cause  him  to  say  he  was  the 
poorest  person  he  knew  of.  He  meant  the  most 
to  be  pitied. 

Lina.  Thank  you,  Mary;  I  must  say  it  needed 
a  little  explaining,  but  Charlie  is  a  thoughtful 
little  lad  in  spite  of  his  baby  language. 


SEEDLINGS. 

'  Some  thirty,  some  sixty,  some  an  hundredfold.' 

A  FAMOUS  botanist  tells  us  that  it  is  no 
uncommon  thing  to  find  two  thousand 
grains  on  a  single  plant  of  maize — sprung  from 
one  seed, — four  thousand  seeds  in  one  sunflower, 
thirty-two  thousand  on  a  single  poppy  plant, 
and  thirty- six  thousand  on  one  plant  of  tobacco. 

Pliny,  the  historian,  relates  that  a  Roman 
governor  in  Africa  sent  to  the  Emperor  Augustus 
a  single  plant  of  corn  with  three  hundred  and 
forty  stems,  bearing  three  hundred  and  forty 
ears, — so  that  at  least  sixty  thousand  grains  of 
corn  were  produced  from  a  single  seed. 

In  more  modern  times  twelve  thousand  seven 
hundred  and  eighty  grains  have  been  grown  on 
one  stalk  of  the  famous  corn  of  Smyrna. 

It  was  once  calculated  that  in  eight  yeai-s  as 
much  corn  might  be  grown  from  one  seed  as  to 
supply  all  mankind  with  bread  for  a  year  and 
a  half.  

PRECIOUS  AS   GOLD. 

NEVER  waste  one  of  the  little  quarters  of 
an  hour  God  gives  you — they  can  never 
be  recalled. 

'GO   TO    THE   ANT.' 

THE  Arabs  hold  the  wisdom  of  the  ant  in 
such  esteem  that  they  have  a  custom  of 
placing  one  of  these  insects  in  the  hand  of  a 
newly-born  infant,  repeating  the  words,  '  May 
the  child  turn  out  clever  and  skilful  I ' 


A  Father's  Treasures. 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


373 


EVENTIDE. 


THE  day  is  past, 
And  now  at  last 
The  sunset  gilds  the  sl^y  : 
I  feel  a  rest 
Within  my  breast, 
For  Thou,  dear  Lord,  art  niglu 

Witli  bended  knee 

I  come  to  Thee, 
The  day's  misdeeds  deplore  ; 

Although  the  sin 

My  heart  within 
Thou  Imewest  all  before. 

The  sunset  dies, 

And  cloudy  skies 
Obscure  the  moon's  bright  ray  ; 

In  still  night  hour 

Thou  giv'st  the  power 
To  lift  the  heart  and  pray. 

And  now  I  rest 

Upon  Thy  breast ; 
Eepose  in  Thee  is  sweet : 

Care  liath  no  part 

Within  my  heart — • 
I  cast  it  at  Thy  feet. 

Marian  Isabel  Hureell. 


A  PATHEB'S  TREASURES. 


ILL  STUKELY  was  a 
rich  man  I  No,  that  is 
not  the  way  to  put  it :  he 
was  a  happy  poor  man. 
Happy  in  his  work,  happy 
in  his  home,  hajjpy  in  his 
own  honest  heart  1  And 
all  because  he  tried  his 
best  to  do  what  was  right. 
Not  but  what  he  had 
"^  his    troubles,    like    other 

folks,  but   then  he   met   them   like  a  man, 

bravel}',  when  they  were  to  be  got  over;  and 
bore  them  like  a  good  man,  prayerfully,  when 
they  had  to  be  borne. 

'  But  who  was  he  ? '  you  will  say. 
Well,  he  was  only  a  fisherman,  out  early  and 
late,  all  night  sometimes,  and  in  the  early  dawn, 


summer  and  winter,  rain  and  shine,  to  win  bread 
for  the  little  ones ;  and  never  so  happy  as  when 
his  treasures.  Jemmy  and  Susan,  came  down  to 
welcome  him  in  from  the  boat,  and  see  what  fish 
he  had  caught. 

Oh  the  shouts  of  laughter  and  glee  then  I 
His  honest  heart  would  beat  with  pride  as  he 
shouldered  the  yoimgsters  and  carried  them  up  to 
his  cottage  home.  And  WiU  has  a  medal  too, 
for  he  is  one  of  the  life-boat  crew,  and  has  earned 
a  name  among  them  for  a  bravery  and  daring 
second  to  none  on  that  dreadful  eastern  coast, 
which  has  been  the  grave  of  so  many  noble  ships. 

That  medal  is  one  of  his  treasures,  and  proud 
he  is  to  show  it;  but  greater  treasures  still  are 
the  two  little  ones  who  call  him  father,  and  who 
never  tire  of  hearing  his  stories  of  life -boat 
rescue. 


374 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


THE    KING   IN    HIS  GARDEN. 

IN  a  very  "beautiful  garden  belonging  to  a 
great  king  were  tlie  most  delicious  fruits 
and  flowers;  the  grounds  were  arranged  carefully 
to  please  tlie  eye,  give  refresliing  shade,  and 
lovely  views. 

One  superb  old  oak  could  be  seen  for  miles 
round,  and  tbere  were  flowers  and  sbrubs  of 
every  kind :  notHng  was  wanting  to  make  it 
2)erfect. 

One  day  tlie  cbief  gardener  came  to  the  Idng, 
and  begged  him  to  come  and  see  what  was  the 
matter;  every  plant  and  tree  was  withering  and 
drooping. 

The  Iring  went  and  found  it  as  the  man  had 
said.  He  went  first  to  the  grand  old  oak,  his 
pride  and  admiration.  '  Why,  oak,'  said  ho, 
'  what's  the  matter  with  you,  that  you  are 
drooping  and  dying  ?  ' 

'  I  am  tired  of  life,'  replied  the  oak.  '  I  am  so 
large  and  cumbersome,  I  seem  of  no  use ;  my 
branches  spread  so  far  and  mde,  they  only  make 
it  all  shady  beneath,  so  that  no  flowers  can  grow 
there,  and  I  bear  nothing  but  leaves ;  if  I  had 
sweet  flowers,  or  even  fruit  like  the  grape-vine, 
I  would  be  different.     Let  me  die.' 

Then  the  king  looked  on  the  rose-bush  sadly 
and  questioningly. 

'As  for  me,"  said  the  rose,  '  I'm  of  no  use,  I  have 
no  fruit,  nothing  but  a  few  flowers.  If  I  were  an 
oak,  like  that  in  the  middle  of  your  garden,  I 
should  be  able  to  give  shelter  and  shade ;  I 
should  be  seen  for  miles,  as  it  is,  I  might  as  well 
die.' 

The  king  then  came  to  a  grape-vine,  no  longer 
climbing  the  trellis  and  the  trees,  but  trailing 
sadly  on  the  ground.  He  stopped.  '  Why, 
what  is  the  matter  here  ?  Why  are  you  lying 
on  the  ground  ? ' 

'  See,'  said  the  vine,  'what  a  poor,  weak  creature 
I  am  I  I  can't  even  hold  up  my  own  weight, 
but  must  chug  to  a  tree  or  a  post.  What  good 
can  I  do?  I  can  neither  give  shade  like  the  oak, 
or  fragrance  like  the  rose.     Better  let  me  die.' 

So  the  king  went  on  in  despiair,  seeing  all 
his  palace  garden  going  wrong. 

But  suddenly  he  spied  a  little  heart's-ease,  low 
do^\^l  in  the  ground,  but  with  upturned  face, 
bright  and  smiling.  He  stopped  and  said, 
'  Dear   little   heart's-ease,   what  makes   you  so 


bright  and  blooming,  when  everything  around 
you  looks  so  desponding  and  downcast?' 

The  little  flower,  blushing  with  pleasure,  said, 
'  I  thought  you  wanted  me  here  :  if  you  had 
wanted  an  oak  you  would  have  planted  an  acorn, 
if  you  had  wanted  roses  you  would  have  set  out 
a  rose-bush,  and  if  you  had  wished  for  grapes 
you  would  have  planted  a  vine.  But  I  knew  that 
what  you  wanted  of  me  was  to  be  a  heart's-ease, 
and  so  I  thought  I  would  try  to  be  the  very 
best  little  heart's-ease  that  ever  was.' 

Ah,  children !  what  a  pretty  little  lesson  of 
contentment  and  obedience  ! 

God  did  not  want  a  great  man,  learned  and 
rich,  in  the  place  where  He  put  you  ;  if  He  had 
it  would  have  been  so.  He  wants  each  of 
you  to  be  a  child  while  you  are  a  child ;  but 
He  wants  you  to  be  a  good  child,  and  the  very 
best  little  '  heart's-ease '  that  ever  you  can. 


CRIPPLES. 

A  FALSEHOOD  is  a  poor  cripple,  unable 
to    stand   by    itself  without    another   to 
support  it. 

AUNT  LOUISA'S  GOLD  BEADS. 

{Continued  from,  page  363.) 

THEY'LL  make  up  their  little 
difficulty  better  without  our 
looking  on,'  iMr.  Green  re- 
marked to  his  wife,  and  so 
Susie  had  her  friend  all  to  her- 
self for  the  next  ten  minutes. 

'  Do  give  it  to  me,  quick  I ' 
were  her  first  words.  '  I've 
nearly  gone  wild  waiting  for 
you!  I-  don't  believe,  Fannie 
Berkeley,  you  were  ever  so  late  before,  and  you 
might  have  hurried  just  this  once.' 

'  I  can't  give  it  to  yon,  Susie,'  said  Fannie, 
very  despondently.  '  My  two  brothers  have  been 
out  since  early  daylight  to  look  for  it,  and  mo- 
ther has  searched  the  house  over,  and  we  can't 
find  the  slightest  trace  of  it.  It  seems  to  have 
gone  like  magic;  but  it's  gone,  Susie,  that's  cer- 
tain, and  I  am  as  soiTy  as  I  can  be.  What  did 
your  mother  say  about  it  ? ' 

'  Gone?'  Susie  felt  herself  growing  cold  to  her 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


375 


very  finger-ends.  '  Gone  ? '  she  said  bitterly. 
'  I  can't  bear  it !  My  mother  never  will  forgive 
me ! ' 

'  You  don't  mean  that  you  haven't  told  her  ? ' 

'But  I  do  though,' answered  Sue.  'She  knows 
that  something  is  wi'ong  ;  she  thinks  we've  had 
a  quarrel,  and  that  I'm  ill  to-day,  and  father 
won't  let  me  go  to  Sunday  school  or  church,  he 
is  so  afraid  of  my  taking  cold  ;  and  I  thought 
— oh,  I  thought,  Fannie,  you  would  bring  back 
the  beads  this  morning,  and  then  I  would  tell 
mother,  and  it  wouldn't  be  half  so  bad  ;  but 
now  that  the  beads  are  gone,  I  have  stolen  them. 
It  is  a  theft !  you  know  it  is.' 

'  Why,  didn't  your  mother  give  them  to  you 
to  wear  ? '  and  Fannie  looked  utterly  mys- 
tified. 

'No,'  said  Susie;  'no,  they  are  Aunt  Louisa's 
beads.  They  belonged  to  her  grandmother,  and 
she  valued  them  beyond  anything  that  she  owns ; 
and  I  teased  her  to  let  me  wear  them,  and 
she  wouldn't  do  it ;  and  so  when  she  went 
up  to  the  garret,  I  slipped  into  her  room  and 
iiulocked  her  drawer  and  took  them  out,  and 
I  put  them  on  when  nobody  was  looking ; 
and  it  was  stealing,  wasn't  it  ? '  asked  Susie, 
distressfully. 

'  It  was  very  wrong,'  said  Fannie,  with  a  se- 
rious shade  on  her  face  that  Siisie  had  never  seen 
there  before.  '  I  wouldn't  dare  say  what  it  was ; 
but  I  Imow  one  thing, — I  could  not  rest  a 
minute  until  I  told  the  whole  thing ;  not 
only  because  I  wanted  forgiveness,  but  they 
would  all  help  look  for  it,  and  would  offer  a 
reward,  and  it  might  be  found.  Father  says 
the  ribbon  must  have  been  old  and  worn,  and 
probably  it  gave  way  when  we  were  playing 
out  in  the  snow,  and  as  it  was  a  moonlight 
night  somebody  must  have  seen  it  and  picked  it 
up.  They  will  wait  for  a  reward,  most  liliely. 
The  beads  are  so  curious,  it  will  be  very  easy  to 
discover  who  has  them,  if  they  ai-e  kept,  for  it 
isn't  likely  that  any  one  in  this  town  has  beads 
like  those,  carved  all  over  so  funny.  Do,  Susan, 
go  at  once  to  your  mother  and  tell  her.  Promise 
me  that  you  will.' 

'  I  cannot  promise  anything,'  responded  Susie, 
gloomily.  '  I  feel  as  if  I  should  die.  I  want 
to  have  time  to  think  it  all  over.  Do  go  along 
to  Sunday  school  and  leave  me  alone  now. 
You  can't  Jielp  me  one  bit.' 


'  I  can't  bear  to  go  and  leave  you  feeling 
so.  You  don't  seem  like  yourself,  Susie, — you 
are  usually  so  conscientious ;  and  you  have 
done  such  a  wrong  thing  now,  and  persist  in 
keeping  it  up.  You  can  never  feel  right  until 
you  confess  it.  Do  jsromise  me  that  you 
will.' 

'  I  won't  promise  one  single  thing,  so  there ! 
I  am  just  as  unhappy  and  wretched  as  I  can  be. 
But  you  must  promise  me  that  you  won't  say 
anything  to  Mother  or  Auntie, — they're  both 
going  to  church,  and  they  may  speak  to  you 
about  me.' 

'  If  they  do,'  replied  Fannie  stoutly,  '  I  shall 
not  tell  a  lie ;  and  you  wouldn't  have  me,  you 
know  yoii  wouldn't.  You're  not  yourself  this 
morning  at  all.' 

'  But  won't  j^ou  try  and  not  see  them,'  j^er- 
sisted  Susie. 

'  Why,  yes  ;  I'll  keep  out  of  their  way,  if  you 
want  me  to,  but  I  know  my  mother  will  go 
straight  up  to  yours  and  tell  her  how  she  has 
searched  everywhere;  for  she  feels  dreadfully  that 
you  should  have  lost  it  at  our  house.' 

'  Dear,  dear  I '  and  Susie  wrung  her  hands ; 
'  what  shall  I  do  ?  ' 

'  Susie  Green,  do  your  duty  1 '  said  Fannie 
energetically.  '  Do  what  your  Bible,  your 
Church,  and  your  Mother  have  tried  to  teach 
you  ever  since  you  were  bom  ;  why,  don't  j'ou 
remember  the  Bible  says,  "  If  we  confess  our  sins 
God  is  faithful  and  just  to  forgive  us  our  sins  ?  " 
Why,  you've  heard  that  ever  since  you  were  old 
enough  to  remember  !  Sit  down  and  look  it  out 
now,  for  I  must  hurry  along  to  school.  You 
have  an  hour  and  a  half  before  church  to  tell 
your  mother  and  aimt,  and  it  won't  take  five 
minutes  to  do  it  in.  Susie,  your  own  mother 
won't  be  harder  than  God  with  you,  and  all  we 
have  to  do  is  to  confess  our  sins  in  the  right 
spirit  to  Him,  and  we  shall  be  forgiven.  And 
now  the  bells  will  soon  stop  ringing,  so  I  must 
say  good-bye.' 

Susie  scarcely  heard  the  words,  but  the  sweet, 
encouraging  smile  Fannie  gave  as  she  went 
away  helped  her.  She  went  to  the  window, 
watching  the  children  go  by,  nodding  now  and 
again  to  some  of  her  friends,  telegraphing  '  ill ' 
when  they  beckoned  for  her  to  join  them,  and 
feeling  in  the  inmost  depths  of  her  wretched 
little  heart  that  she  reallv  was  ill;  there  was 


376 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


BO  manner  of  doutt  abont  tliat  now.  Her  liead 
was  acMng,  lier  cheeks  burning,  and  her  heart 
bonnding  so  painfully  that  it  caused  her  absolute 
pain.  She  turned  away,  when  the  bells  ceased 
ringing,  and  took  up  her  Bible,  and  the  words 
that  her  straightforward  little  friend  had 
repeated,  came  up  in  her  mind.  '  Confess  her 
sins  ! '  why,  the  longer  she  put  it  off  the  harder 
it  was  to  do  it !  She  heard  her  mother's  light 
foot-fall  overhead,  tripping  to  and  fro,  as  she 
dressed  for  church.  She  saw  her  father  take  his 
hat  and  cane  and  start  for  the  village,  possibly 
he  was  going  to  the  doctor's  ;  yes,  the  longer  she 
waited,  the  harder  it  became  to  tell,  and  having 
fought  the  battle  out  with  her  evil  thoughts,  she 
deliberately  laid  down  her  books  and  hurried  up 
to  her  mother's  room. 

(To  he  continued.) 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


377 


AUNT    LOUISA'S    GOLD    BEADS. 

^(Continued,  from  J>.Z1Q.) 

■     CHAPTER  VI. — Susie's  repentance. 

FTER   tapjaing  at   the  dooi-; 
Susie  opened  it  very  tremu 
lously,  and  not  daring  to  loot 
up,  went  softly  to  her  motlier's 
side.     Mrs.  Green  was  pin- 
ning liev  necktie,  and  felt, 
rather  than  saw,  her  little 
girl's  entrance. 
'  How  are  you  now,  dear? 
Better,  I  hope.    And  have 
yon  come  to  tell  me  that  you 
and  Fannie  have  settled  your 
trifling  difficulty  ?  '   she  asked,  in  a 
hright,  cheery  voice,  as  she  patted 
the  curly  head  close  at  her  elbow.' 

'  We  had  no  difficulty,  Mo- 
ther.' 

'  No?     Well,  I'm  glad 
to  hear  that.  I  wouldn'  t 
like  you   to   quarrel 
with  such  a  good 
child.      What 
is  the  trouhle  ,  y^:- 

then?'  '/i^- 

"     ■         M  ' 

m 


Susie's  Kepentance. 
3c 


378 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


Have  yon  come  to  make  a  "full  and  free  con- 
fession," as  you  promised  to  do  ? '  and  she 
laughed  a  bright  little  laugh  again. 

Susie  waited  a  moment.  Her  mother  had  not 
turned  round  to  look  at  her,  and  in  the  silence 
that  followed  the  question  she  thought  that  her 
heart-beats  sounded  Hke  the  tapping  of  a  drum. 

'  I  wsh  you  would  tell  me  what  you  think  of 
me.  Mother,'  she  finally  managed  to  say,  in  a 
voice  very  little  louder  than  a  whisper. 

'  What  I  think  of  you?  Well,  I  think  you 
are  a  dear  little  girl,  my  own  precious  Susie 
Green ;  a  fanciful  little  puss,  more  fanciful  than 
ever  to-day.  Why,  what  ails  the  dear  child  ? ' 
for  Susie  had  put  out  her  arms,  and  catching 
the  skirts  of  her  mother's  best  dress,  she  was 
plentifully  bedewing  it  with  tears. 

'  I  am  not  good,'  she  burst  out,  '  not  your  dear 
little  child  at  all ;  but  I'm  just  as  wicked  as  I 
can  be,  and  I've  done  an  awful  thing — you'll 
never  love  me,  you'll  never  look  at  me  again — 
but  I  shall  tell  you.  I've  made  up  my  mind — 
and — and — I'm  afraid  I  am  a  thief'.' 

'  A  what,  Susie  '? ' 

'  A  thief!  I've  stolen — I've  stolen  the  Moorish 
beads  1 ' 

'  Stolen   the    Moorish   beads  ? '    Mrs.    Green  . 
repeated  it  after  her  daughter  slowly,  as  if  she 
did  not  quite  take  in  the  full  meaning  of  the 
words.     '  What  are  you    talking  about,  dear '? 
What  Moorish  beads  ? ' 

Susie  had  begun,  and  now  she  miist  go  on :  it 
was  too  dreadful  a  thing  to  charge  herself  with 
being  a  thief,  and  then  not  explain  the  temptation 
and  the  subsequent  remorse.  Yet  it  was  hard 
to  speak  while  her  mother  stood  looking  down 
at  her  with  such  a  shocked,  grieved  face,  and 
trembhng  lips.  Her  eyes  fell,  then  ran  rmeasily 
over  her  mother's  dress  ;  she  drew  a  long  breath, 
and  then  began  again,  as  if  freshly  inspired. 

'  I'U  tell  you  the  whole  thing.  I  took  Aunt 
Louisa's  beads,  and  I  wore  them  to  Fannie's,  and 
I've  lost  them,'  and  she  dashed  at  the  story, 
telling,  in  a  broken,  incoherent  way,  ever}'  par- 
ticular of  the  unfortunate  affair. 

Mrs.  Green  had  dropped  the  brooch  she  was 
fastening  in  her  dress  when  Susie  began  to  speak, 
and  forgot  to  pick  it  up.  For  the  first  time  in 
her  life  her  child  had  committed  a  grave,  a 
very  grave  fault ;  and  to  think  it  must  be  Aunt 
Louisa,  of  all  people  in  the  world,  who  must  be 


injured  by  it  I  Not  only  that  she  stood  some- 
what in  awe  of  this  maiden  sister-in-law,  but 
her  ideas  of  right  and  wrong  were  so  clearly 
defined,  so  sharply  laid  out ;  and  the  chain  was, 
as  Mrs.  Berkeley  had  supposed,  an  heir-loom, 
the  sole  relic  of  a  dearly  loved  grandmother. 

'  Oh,  if  it  could  only  have  been  something 
else  ! '  And  Mrs.  Green  dropped  into  a  chair  with 
a  gi'oan  almost  as  heavy  as  poor  Susie's,  and 
then  burst  into  tears. 

'  My  poor,  sinning,  ignorant  child,  that  you, 
should  have  done  such  a  thing ! '  And  Susie  ran 
into  her  mother's  open  anus,  and  sobbed  again 
as  if  her  heart  would  break.  'Surely  it  could 
not  be  !  There  must  be  some  mistake.  Perhaps,- 
after  all,  the  child  was  feverish  and  a  little  light- 
headed.' 

'  Susie,'  she  began,  tremirlously,  'are  you  sure 
that  you  took  the  beads  ?  Are  you  not  worried 
and  troubled,  and  full  of  strange  fancies  after  a 
sleepless  night  ? ' — scarlet  fever  coming  to  her- 
mind  again.  'Don't  you  remember  that  I 
dressed  you  myself,  and  you  were  downstairs  with 
me  wheir  the  girls  came  for  you  ?  How  then 
could  you  have  taken  the  beads,  for  they  were 
looked  in  the  bureau-drawer,  and  we  all  sat  in 
that  room  ?  This  is  some  frightful  fancy  of 
yours,  my  child.' 

'  But  I  took  them,'  persisted  Susie.  '  I  took 
them  in  the  morning  when  you  went  to  the- 
village  for  my  hair-ribbon,  and  I  hid  them  up- 
stairs, and  put  them  on  when  I  put  on  my  hat 
and  cloak,'  and  she  went  back  and  told  it  all 
clearly,  too  clearly  to  admit  of  any  doubt. 

At  last,  Mrs.  Green  was  forced  to  believe  her, 
and  her  grave,  shocked  face,  was  almost  more 
reproachful  than  words  to  the  child. 

'  Oh,  Mother,  what  shall  I  do?  What  shall  I 
do  ?  '  she  cried  in  despair. 

'  Pray,  dear  one,  pray  as  you  have  never 
prayed  before,'  said  her  mother,  as  she  bent 
tenderly  over  her;  'that  is  the  only  thing  that 
wiU  keep  any  of  us  right  in  this  world.  But,  oh, 
my  child,  my  child !  no  one  can  tell  my  sorrow ; ' 
and  dra\-\'ing  the  wet  cheeks  close  to  hers,  they 
mingled  their  tears  together. 

'  You  don't  know,  you  can  never  guess,  how  I 
have  suffered,'  whispered  Susie,  though  oven  in 
the  keen  pang  that  her  mother's  tears  caused 
her  was  mingled  a  feehng  of  joy,  that  now  the 
whole  horrible  secret  was  out,  and  at  least  she  was 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


379 


rid  of  bearing  the  burden  about  alone.  '  It  seems 
to  me,  Mother,  that  I'd  die  if  I  were  to  go  through 
such  a  dreadful  night  again.  If  I  closed  my 
eyes  to  sleep,  I'd  hear  "  Thief  I  thief!"  in  my  ears; 
and  when  Fannie  came  to  tell  me  the  beads  could 
not  be  found  I  did  not  dare  look  at  Aunt 
Louisa  again!  I  thought  T  would  run  away  and 
go  off  somewhere  all  alone  by  myself — anything 
rather  than  meet  her.  Do  you  think  she  will 
ever  forgive  me  ?  She  never,  never  can  trust 
me  again.' 

'  Jly  child,  yoiir  aunt  is  a  noble -hearted 
Christian  wpman.  She  will  not  be  harder  than 
God,  dear  love,  and  He  forgives  us  if  we  confess 
our  sins.' 

'  Fannie  said  those  very  words  when  she  begged 
me  to  teU.' 

'  Dear  little  girl ! '  said  Mrs.  Green,  softly 
stroking  her  daughter's  damp,  disordered  curls. 
'  I  am  grateful  to  God  that  you  had  so  good  an 
adviser.' 

'  Oh,  Mother,  I  hate  myself  so,  and  I'm  so 
ashamed  1  To  be  a  thief,  father's  only  little  girl'. 
What  will  he  say  ?  Oh,  do  help  me,  and  tell  me 
what  to  do  I ' 

'  I  will,  my  chUd,  I  wiU ;  don't  sob  so  bitterly, 
b\rt  resolve  with  aU  your  soul  never  to  yield  to 
such  a  temptation  again,  and  ask  God  to  give 
you  grace  to  remember  and  profit  by  this  day's 
lesson.  You  are  to  go  through  life,  remember, 
meeting  and  resisting  just  such  temptations.  It 
takes  a  lifetime  sometimes  to  conquer  our  besetting 
sins.  Think  of  this  upon  your  knees  when  you 
pray  to  be  delivered  from  evU,  and  I  will  re- 
member it  for  you  daily.  I  was  just  lilce  you 
when  a  chUd,  and  I  once  fell  into  a  snare  laid 
for  me  very  similar  to  this.' 

'  You,  mother  ?  Surely  yon  never  could  have 
done  anything  wrong  ! ' 

'  Hugh,  dear  I  I  do  wrong  things  every  day 
of  my  life,'  said  Mrs.  Green  gently.  '  I  have 
been  trying  for  more  than  thirty  years  to  con- 
quer my  pride,  my  selfishness,  my  evil  temper  ; 
and  I  fail,  dear,  fail  every  day  of  my  life.  Why 
should  not  you  ? ' 

The  imexpected  tenderness  of  her  mother 
completely  overcame  the  child,  and  as  she  clung 
to  her  she  promised  faithfully  that  she  would 
try,  and  not  in  her  own  strength  either,  but  in 
the  strength  of  the  dear  Lord,  to  atone  for  her 
■s\Tong- doing.      And    while    they    were    thus 


engaged,  Aunt  Louisa  opened  the  door  softly, 
looked  in,  shut  the  door  again  as  gently  as  it 
was  possible  for  that  energetic  lady  to  do  anj'- 
thing,  and  went  on  her  way  to  church  with  Mr. 
Green. 

'  Just  leave  Maria  alone,'  she  said ;  '  she  and 
Susie  are  having  a  cry  of  it,  and  I  guess  they'U 
both  come  off  without  scarlet  fever  if  we  don't 
disturb  them.  Something  has  upset  them  both, 
for  Maria  was  crying  too  ; '  and  Aunt  Louisa 
took  her  brother's  arm,  and  flourished  her  blue 
cotton  umbrella  over  the  other,  as  she  explained 
to  Arthur  '  that  Maria  and  Susie  were  as  like 
as  two  peas ;  cry  at  nothing,  and  get  into  a 
regular  fever,  but  two  of  the  dearest  little  things 
in  the  world,  for  all  that.' 

(To  he  continued.) 


MORNING   SUNBEAMS. 

WHEN  I  look  up  in  the  morning, 
And  see  the  bright,  bright  sun, 
I  think  of  little  children 

On  the  way  to  Life  who  run. 

And  some  go  very  slowly. 

While  others  go  so  fast, 
But  the  strong  ones  help  the  weary. 

And  all  get  in  at  last. 

And  while  the  sun  doth  travel 

Across  the  bright  blue  sky, 
The  little  ones  are  going 

Up  to  the  realms  on  high. 

G.  Oldfield. 


BAD   COMPANY. 

BAD  company  is  like  a  nail  driven  into  a 
post,  which,  after  the  first  or  second  blow, 
may  be  dra^^^l  out  with  little  difficulty,  but  being 
once  driven  up  to  the  head  the  pincers  cannot 
take  hold  to  draw  it  out :  it  can  only  be  done  by 
destroying  the  wood. 


MAN'S   PASSIONS. 

MAN'S  passions,  like  the  watery  stores  that 
sleep 
Beneath  the  smiling  surface  of  the  deep, 
Wait  but  the  lashes  of  a  wint'ry  storm 
To  foam,  and  roar,  and  shake  his  feeble  form. 

COWPEB. 


THE    ARCHER. 

/^UR  Saxon  ancestors  called  the  month  of 
vy  No^^ember  '  Wint-Monat;  that  is,  Wind- 
month  ;  and  an  old  writer  says  that  it  was  the 
custom  of  the  shipmen,  meaning  sailors,  to  give 
over  seafaring  until  JMarch  had  hid  them  Took 
for  favouring  winds.  They  must  have  been 
prudent  sailors  in  those  day 
and  rough  winds. 

November,  in  ancient  pictures,  is  represented 
as  a  man  clothed  in  a  robe  of  changeable  green 
and  black— what  is  called  s7io<-coloured— his 
head  adorned  with  a  garland  of  olive-branches 
and  fruit.  In  his  left  hand  he  holds  winter 
vegetables,  and  in  his  right  the  sign  'Sagit- 
tarius,' which  word  is  the  Latin  for  'Archer,' 
the  sign  of  the  Zodiacal  Belt,  which  the  sun 
enters  on  the  22nd  of  tliis  month. 

The  archers  of  ancient  times  were  very 
different,  however,  from  the  modern  bow-and'- 
arrow  boys.  Time  was  when  the  archers  of  the 
Plantagenets  fought  and  won  tlie  battles  of  the 
French  plaii's  at  Crecy  and  Poictiers. 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


381 


HAPPY 

SUNDAY 

AFTERNOONS. 

No.  IX. 


WHAT  DOES 
THE  BIBLE 

SAY  ABOUT 
SPIKENARD? 


An  easy  Exercise  for  little  learners  to  lerite  or  saij  froik  memonj. 


THE    PRISONER  OP  WAR. 

WHEN  Malec,  Grand  Vizier  of  tlie  Calijili 
Mostadi,  obtained  a  victory  over  the 
Greeks  and  captured  their  Emperor,  he  had 
the  prisoner  led  to  the  door  of  his  tent;  and 
there,  standing  before  him,  he  asked  him  what 
treatment  he  expected  from  his  conqneror. 

'  If  you  malte  war  like  a  king,'  answered  the 
captive  prince,  '  send  me  back  to  my  people  ;  if 
you  wage  it  like  a  merchant, .  sell  me ;  if  you 
make  it  like  a  butcher,  slaughter  me.' 


The  reply  so  touched  the  Turkish  General, 
that  he  sent  him  back  without  a  ransom. 


CLUSTERS. 

SINS  grow  like  grapes — iu  clusters  :  he  who 
will  swear  will  lie,  he  who  will  lie  will  steal, 
and  he  who  will  do  all  these  will  do  anything. 
Satan  is  a  serpent ;  if  he  gets  the  head  in,  the 
whole  body  will  not  be  far  behind. 

Bp.  Henshaw, 


382 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


SCHOOL. 

HUBERT  looks  small  for  his  age,  for  lie  is 
six  years  old,  and  goes  to  Bcliool.  He 
used  to  think  it  was  only  boys  and  girls  who 
learnt  lessons,  but  he  knows  better  now.  Shall 
I  tell  you  how?  There  was  a  lazy  dunce  at 
Hubert's  school  (perhaps  there  is  one  at  yours), 
and  one  day  this  dunce 
said  '  he  should  be  glad  -o,^t-  ,0.  tt  .t™.i 

when  his  school  days 
were  over  and  he  had 
done  with  lessons.'  The 
master  overheard  him, 
and  he  told  the  whole 
school  something  which 
Hubert  never  forgot. 

'  Children,'  said  the 
master  very  solemnly, '  as 
long  as  you  are  in  this 
world  your  lessons  will 
never  be  over.  I,  though 
I  am  old,  am  learning 
stUl.  As  you  get  older 
your  schoolmasters  will 
change,  but  you  wiU  still 
be  at  school.  Do  you 
imderstand  me?  Who 
is  the  Master  of  us  all  ?' 

The  boys  Imew  that, 
and  many  voices  answered  reverently,  '  God.' 

'  Yes,  God,'  replied  the  teacher,  '  and  He  has 
many  under-masters,  who  try  to  teach  His 
people  the  lessons  He  would  have  them  learn. 
Sometimes  Poverty  is  the  schoolmaster,  some- 
times Wealth,  sometimes  Sorrow,  or  Happiness. 
AH  these  things  are  sent  to  teach  us  something. 


There  are  dunces    in   God's   school  as  in  our 
schools  here  below — idle,  selfish  people,  who  do 
not  care  to  please  the  great  Master ;  they  will 
be   very   soiTy    one   day — that    great    Day   of 
Account,  when  every  man's  work  will  be  judged. 
Learn  all  you  can,  boys,'  he  concluded,  '  for  all 
must  learn,  even  the  youngest  of  you,  and  those 
who  will   not   learn    in 
God's  school,  learn  les- 
sons all  the  same — sad 
lessons,   ■wncked  lessons, 
of  a  hard,  bad   master, 
whose  wages  are  death.' 
Hubert   went    home, 
and  thought  a  great  deal 
of  these  words ;  he  quite 
made  up  his   mind  to 
learn  in   God's  school; 
and     DoUy,    his     little 
sister,  she  must  learn  too. 
None  were  too  small,  and 
he  looked  at  httle  year- 
old   Dolly   sucking  her 
thumb   on   the    nursery 
floor. 

'What  could  Dolly 
learn  ? '  Suddenly  he 
sprang  up.  'Dolly  must 
learn  to  walk ;'  she  was 
too  j'oung  to  leani  anything  else  yet,  and  veiy 
patiently  and  kindly  did  the  little  fellow  sup- 
port Dolly's  trembUng,  tottering  feet.  Dolly 
was  pleased  to  learn ;  perhaps  when  she  gets 
older  Hubert  may  guide  her  feet  into  God's 
paths,  as  now  he  leads  her  across  the  nursery 
floor.  G.  A.  B. 


LITTLE    ETJLES   FOR    LITTLE 
POLK. 

TRUST  in  God, 
Distmst  thyself; 
Use  small  things. 
Shun  the  great ; 
Hear  much, 
Say  little; 
Pray  fervently. 
Forgive  willingly; 
Leave  all  else  to  God. 


THE  MIDNIGHT   CLIMB. 

MOTHER!  Mother!  wake,  Mother;  I'm 
frightened  I  so  frightened,  Mother ; '  and 
Alice  sat  up  in  bed  literally  tremblmg  with  fear. 
For  once,  however,  the  hard-worked  mother  gave 
no  heed  to  her  darling's  distress ;  she  was 
wearied  oat  with  anxiety,  and  after  sewing 
many  hours  into  the  night,  without  finishing 
her  task,  she  had  given  way  to  despairing  tears, 
and  at  last  had  fallen  asleei^,  resting  her  head  on 
the  hard  table  of  their  only  room. 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


383 


Again  and  again  Alice  called,  and  at  last, 
summoning  courage,  she  left  her  bed  and  touched 
her  mother's  arm  ;  that  did,  at  last,  wake  the 
poor  woman.  She  sat  up  instantly,  and  gazing 
on  the  child  in  her  nightdress,  said  reprovingly, 
'  Get  into  bed  again,  my  little  one  ;  Mother  will 
come  soon,  she  has  almost  finished.' 

But  Alice  sobbed  violently,  and  threw  herself 
into  her  mother's  arms,  declaring  she  couldn't 
sleep ;  the  men  below  in  the  street  made  such  a 
noise,  and  the  light  in  the  room  was  so  funny. 

Mrs.  Guthrie  looked  suddenly  up.  Yes,  Alice 
was  right ;  there  was  certainly  a  strange,  lurid 
light  in  the  room  ;  if  her  eyes  had  not  been  so 
dim  with  tears  she  must  have  noticed  it  before ; 
and  clasping  the  trembling  Alice  tight  ia  her 
arms,  she  went  to  the  window. 

It  was  an  attic  window,  high  above  the  street, 
but  the  hum  of  anxious  voices  and  the  loud 
rattle  of  wheels  could  be  distinctly  heard ;  and 
now  the  ominous  words,  '  Fire  1  fire  1 '  were 
plainly  borne  upon  the  night  wind. 

Mrs.  Guthrie  opened  the  window,  and  looked 
out ;  their  house  was  not  on  fire,  but  a  large 
hotel,  wliich  was  on  the  same  side  of  the  street, 
was  in  flames ;  and  as  Mrs.  Guthrie  gazed  in 
the  fascinated,  awe-struck  way  in  which  one  is 
constrained  to  watch  the  devouring  element,  a 
strange  sight  met  her  view. 

Upon  the  roof  of  the  adjoining  house  a  woman, 
in  her  dressing-go's^Ti,  with  long  streaming  hair, 
was  standing  in  a  truly  perilous  position ;  and 
in  her  arms  she  held  a  bundle — a  little  baby  I 
Mrs.  Guthrie  turned  away,  she  could  not  look  ; 
the  thought  of  the  fall  that  must  come  turned 
her  sick  and  faint.  Only  for  a  minute,  however; 
thin  and  fragile  as  she  was,  Mrs.  Guthrie  had, 
nevertheless,  a  brave  heart.  She  placed  Alice 
in  bed,  kissed  her  passionately,  and  bade  her 
'  lie  quiet  a  minute  and  say  her  prayers  ;  Mother 
Avould  be  back  again  presently.'  Then  untjdng 
the  stout  cord  on  which  a  little  garment  of 
Alice's  was  hanging  to  dry,  she  knotted  one  end 
firmly  to  the  bed-post,  and  holding  the  other  in 
her  hand,  she  climbed  out  of  the  window,  and 
slowly  and  cautiously  made  her  way  along  the 
parapet — fortunately  a  wide  one — towards  the 
poor  creature,  who  still  stood  on  the  roof,  but 
swaying  so  in  her  terror  that  it  seemed  every 
moment  as  if  she  must  fall  on  to  the  pavement 
below. 


Slowly — very  slowly,  for  in  every  step  lay 
possible  death — did  Mrs.  Guthrie  creep  along 
that  giddy  height,  each  moment  bringing  her  a 
few  inches  nearer  to  the  distracted  lady,  who, 
reassured  by  the  hope  of  deliverance,  herself 
ventured  timidly  along  the  roof  towards  the 
brave  woman  who  was  risking  her  own  life  for 
hers.  They  met,  and  placing  the  cord  in  the 
hand  of  the  stranger,  Mrs.  Guthrie  said  quietly, 
'  Follow  me ;  if  yo\i  are  careful,  you  may  yet 
save  your  child.' 

Her  words  were  well  chosen  to  give  confidence  . 
to  the  mother,  who  was  just  awakening  to  a 
sense  of  the  perilous  situation  to  which,  in  her 
anxiety  to  escape  the  fire,  she  had  exposed  her- 
self. Until  that  moment  she  had  been  perfectly 
unconscious  of  where  she  was  going ;  her  mind 
was  so  utterly  taken  up  with  the  one  idea  of 
escape  from  the  flames,  that  the  thought  of  no 
other  dangers  occurred  to  her.  She  had  pushed 
open  trap-doors  and  traversed  roofs  with  the 
ease  with  which  she  would  have  trodden  the 
high  road. 

Now,  however,  she  was  roused  to  a  sense  of 
her  danger,  and  but  for  the  allusion  to  her  little 
one  she  woidd  have  found  it  impossible  to  move 
from  the  spot.  But  her  darling  must  be  placed 
in  safety  I  And  with  this  thought  the  poor 
mother  nerved  herself  for  that  perilous  walk 
across  the  roof.  The  crowd  below  literally  held 
its  breath  as  those  two  women  slowly  and  pain- 
fully made  their  way  along  the  unprotected 
parapet — unprotected,  that  is,  by  coping,  or 
railing,  or  anything  visible  to  mortal  eyes ;  but 
surely  the  '  everlasting  arms'  of  God's  mercy  and 
love  must  have  encircled  them,  to  bring  them 
alive  from  such  appalling  danger. 


The  days  of  want  and  poverty  were  over  for 
Mrs.  Guthrie  from  that  day  forth;  and  little 
Alice's  life  is  now  passed  amid  green  fields  and 
leafy  trees,  and  the  memory  of  the  sad  London 
days  has  faded  from  her  childish  mind. 

Mrs.  Guthrie  lives  at  the  pretty  rose-covered 
lodge  belonging  to  the  Great  House,  as  the 
villagers  call  the  Manor,  and  her  grateful  friend 
is  the  lady  of  the  Manor,  whose  little  boy  will 
listen  ■s\ith  breathless  attention  to  his  mother 
when  she  tells  him  the  story  of  her  midnight 
climb.  E.  A.  B. 


384 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


'She  had  fallen  asleep." 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


385 


Trrrrm 


"Johnny  dived  to  the  bottom  of  his  pocket." 
3d 


386- 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


JOHNNY'S   POCKET-MONEY. 

JOHNNY  MARTIN  had  eight  hrothers  and 
sisters,  two  of  whom  were  older  than  him- 
self, and  six  little  ones  followed  closely  on  his 
heels. 

The  two  elder  children  were  girls,  fortunately, 
at  least,  so  Mrs.  Martin  said,  for  the  boys  wore 
out  their  clothes  twice  as  fast  as  their  sisters, 
who,  as  soon  as  thirteen  years  of  age  freed  them 
from  the  clutch  of  the  school-board  visitor,  went 
to  little  places  where  their  clothing  and  food 
were,  at  any  rate,  foiuid,  besides  a  stray  shilhng 
<K  two  when  they  had  been  very  good  girls. 

Johnny  was  longing  for  the  day  when  he 
could  be  apprenticed  to  the  blacksmith  at  the 
comer  of  the  street;  meanwhile  he  had  to  go 
patiently  to  school  all  through  the  week  except 
on  the  Saturday  holiday,  when  his  mother  had 
got  him  taken  on  as  extra  errand  boy  at  the 
large  oil-shop  in  the  High  Street. 

Saturday  was  Johnny's  hardest  day  of  all  the 
seven,  but  it  brought  Mrs.  Martin  in  a  whole 
shilling,  to  earn  which  he  had  to  rush  about 
from  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning  till  eleven  at 
night. 

Petroleum  for  one  house,  soap,  candles,  and 
matches  for  a  second,  turpentine  for  a  third,  and 
so  on,  till,  by  the  time  Johnny's  basket  was 
fidl,  he  had  a  heavy  load  to  carry  round  the 
to^^^l.  No  dinner-hour  could  be  spared  him  on 
this  very  busy  day,  and  so  Johnny  always 
brought  his  food  with  him,  tied  up  in  a  hand- 
kerchief. To-day  his  dinner  happened  to  be 
only  bread-and-cheese,  and  Johnny  was  slip- 
ping quietly  off  to  eat  it  on  a  large  flat  case  in 
a  corner  of  the  storehouse,  when  he  heard  the 
mistress  of  the  shop  calling  him  :  '  Here,  Johnny, 
you've  been  so  quick  wth  that  last  round  that 
I've  brought  you  a  penny.  Eun  out  and  get  a 
relish  for  your  dinner  with  it,  my  lad  ;  I  heard 
them  calling  out  "  hot  potatoes"  just  a  moment 
past' 

'  Hot  potatoes  !'  "V\Tiat  a  cheering  sound  that 
was  to  Johnny,  not  overwarm  liimself,  and  with 
his  dinner  of  bread-and-cheese  spread  out  before 
him  !  Not  an  instant  was  lost  in  reflection  :  no 
sooner  was  '  Thank  you,  ma'am,'  out  of  his 
month  than  off  flew  Johnny  in  pursuit  of  the 
man  with  the  hot  potatoes. 

He  was   nowhere  to  be   seen ;    perhaps,  his 


wares  aU  sold,  he  had  hurried  away  out  of  the 
piercing  wind  ;  anyhow,  Johnny's  penny  must 
now  be  spent  on  something  else.  Whelks 
looked  tempting,  and  so  did  the  fried  fish,  all 
ready  heaped  up  in  pennyworths  for  purchasers  to 
select  from. 

Just  at  that  critical  moment,  when  Johnny's 
mind  was  sorely  distracted  with  the  concern  of 
choosing  between  the  whelks  and  the  fried  fish, 
another  outlet  for  his  money  caught  his  eye : 
Chestnuts,  and  twenty  of  them  for  a  penny,  all 
ready  roasted. 

Here  was  the  right  article  at  last  I  Little 
Jem,  ill  at  home  with  a  sprained  ankle,  had 
been  wishing  for  some  all  yesterday.  In  a 
great  hurry,  for  fear  something  still  better 
should  appear  on  the  scene,  Johnny  dived  to  the 
bottom  of  his  pocket,  and  pulled  out  the  precious 
penny. 

'  A  penn'orth  of  nice  ones,  please,  sir,  'cause 
I  want  them  for  my  little  brother  that's  ill.' 

'  Hold  out  your  cap,  my  man.  Here  go 
twenty  of  the  plumpest  that  ever  grew,  and 
there's  a  couple  for  yourself  over.' 

This  was  a  piece  of  luck  for  Johnny,  who 
little  thought  of  meeting  with  a  soft  spot  in  the 
man's  heart.  The  chestnuts  for  Jem  were  all 
put  into  the  pocket  the  peimy  had  just  left,  and 
a  nice  hot  feelmg  of  satisfaction  ran  from  them 
all  down  his  shivery  little  leg.  He  went  back 
to  the  shop,  where  his  bread-and-cheese  had 
quite  a  different  flavour  now  there  was  a  nibble  - 
of  chestnuts  here  and  there  to  munch  mth  it. 

When  his  day's  work  was  done,  and  he 
reached  home  at  last,  Johnny  was  almost  too 
tired  to  tell  his  mother  of  the  good  fortune  that 
had  befallen  him. 

'  Put  these  chestnuts  under  Jem's  pillow,  so 
that  he  can  have  them  when  he  wakes.  Mother. 
I'U  teU  you  the  story  of  them  in  the  morning  ; 
and  here's  the  shilling.' 

'  That's  right,  Johnny  ;  I  don't  know  what  I 
should  do  now  without  your  Saturday  earnings. 
Swallow  this  hot  tea  while  I  just  run  roimd  and 
get  the  few  things  we  want  for  dinner  to-morrow. 
Jem  will  be  pleased  when  he  wakes  to  find 
those  chestnuts  under  his  pillow ;  his  foot  has 
given  him  great  pain  all  day.' 

'  Has  it,  mother  ?  Well,  I  shall  be  able  to 
read  to  him  to-morrow.  Teacher  will  lend  me 
a  nice  book,  I  loiow,  out  of  the  school  library.' 

C.  H. 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


387 


HUBERT  AND   DOLLY. 


>EEE  are  our  little  friends,  Dolly 
and  Hubert,  once  more.  Dolly  lias 
learnt  to  walk,  you  see,  and  now 
she  has  been  amusing  herself  with 
jumping  off  the  old  log  in  the 
meadow.  Suddenly  she  calls  out, 
'  Hubert,  are  there  any  tigers  about 
here?  I  think  I  see  one  coming  down  the 
lane, — just  like  the  tiger  in  my  picture-book.' 

Hubert  laughed.  '  No,  it  is  Farmer  Giles's 
striped  calf,'  he  answered.  '  Tigers  live  in  hot 
countries,'  and  he  continued  to  rock  himself 
gently  backwards  and  forwards. 


betrayed  their  hiding-place ;  but  the  tiger  was 
frightened  himself:  he  had  escaped  from  a 
menagerie  in  the  neighbouring  town,  and  he 
knew  his  pursuers  were  on  his  track.  He 
had  no  time  then  to  look  about  for  a. 
meal,  so  he  rushed  wildly  on,  and  Dolly  andi 
Hubert  were  saved,  and  by-and-by  many  men 
came  running  up,  and  then  sounds  of  firing 
came  across  the  smnmer  air.  The  tiger  was 
shot : 

I  cannot  tell  you  the  grateful  prayers  that 
went  ujj  from  the  children's  jsarents  when  they 
found  that  their  little  ones  were  safe.      Hubert 


'  Look,  Hubert  I  look  I'  continued  Dolly,  ex- 
citedly, and  pointing  down  the  lane. 

Hubert  got  up,  and  then  turned  deadly 
pale. 

'  Dolly,  it  i&  a  tiger  I '  he  said,  quickly ;  '  we 
will  get  into  the  ditch  and  hide.  Get  in 
quickly,  Dolly  I  I  will  sit  outside  you,  and 
then  the  tiger  will  take  me  first,  and  you  must 
try  and  run  away.' 

Dolly  could  not  move,  she  was  too  frightened; 
but  Hubert  somehow  pushed  her  in,  but  only 
just  in  time. 

The  great  beast  came  rushing  do'wn  the 
lane,  and  in  another  minute  it  was  in  the 
meadow.  Hubert's  heart  beat  so  loudly  that 
he  thought  the  sound  of  that  alone  must  have 


had  a  double  share  of  kisses  for  his  thoughtful 
care  of  his  little  sister. 

'  I  know  a  little  now  of  what  David  felt,'  he 
whispered  to  his  mother,  as  she  clasped  him  in  her 
arms, — '  I  mean,  when  he  said  that  "  the  Lord 
delivered  him  oiit  of  the  paw  of  the  lion ;"  only 
ours  was  a  tiger,'  concluded  Hubert,  quaintly. 
'  And  oh,  mother,  I  mean  to  pray  as  I  never  did 
before,  to  be  kept  from  all  evil,  for  whenever  I 
think  of  the  tiger — our  tiger — I  shall  be  re- 
minded of  that  text  about  "  the  devil,  as  a 
roaring  lion,  going  about  seeking  whom  he  may 
devour." ' 

'  "  Eesist  the  devil,  and  he  will  flee  from  you,"' 
quoted  mother ;  and  with  this  soothing  text 
Hubert  fell  asleep.  G.  A.  B. 


388 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


SuA-D AY  Reading  for  the  Young. 


389 


1 


\     I"     li ! 
I  , I II  ii 

I"  I    H  II  II  I  III  III 


< ill  III  I 

/       ,1   III      'll'lll 


|l,l| 

Uiiiii 


III,  1,1 


m i<iiiii||i||ii 

i'i# M|ii 

i|illi|iMi|iiliiW 

i|||i,il villi  II 

||i|  l|ii,| 

,|i|i 
'i  i«  ",, 
«   I   |i    I  'i  I 

>i'i* : 

II II',  III  III , 

III  III,  ,i i,ii 

, ,'i''ii', ii 

iiitiii',iii|iiiiiiiiiii 

i'li'iii'il|'li,'l|i!| 

'''i,''i|ii|''||"i^' 

'|||'|,''i|||liiN I 

''Ji'i  'iiii 

i"|||"|i'i'''|'l"ll'l 
I  III  1 1|||,|||||| 

I,  ,1  ,|ii,|iiii, 
,i  ||i||,  I ,  III 
iii„i|iiii|i  I  |^,,^iii 

ihSi'ii  ii  I  /  iiii|, 

<! iiijU^ 

i<W|l||i   |l|i 


390 


SuNDA  Y  Reading  for  the  Young. 


IN    THE    NORTHERN    SNOW. 


GKEAT  are  tlie  perils  of  travellers  in  the 
far  north, — in  Sweden,  and  Russia,  and 
Siberia, — jjerils  not  only  from  the  deep  snow, 
which  sometimes  overwhelms  a  whole  band  of 
travellers,  but  also  from  the  ferocious  wolves 
that  gather  in  jjacks,  when  driven  by  hunger, — 
even  in  more  southern  lands,  where  their  ravages 
are  dreaded. 

By  wint'ry  famine  roused,  from  all  the  tract 
Of  serried  mountains,  which  the  shining  Alps, 
And  wavy  Apennines,  and  Pyrenees, 
Branch  out,  stupendous,  into  distant  lands, 
Cruel  as  death  and  hungry  as  the  grave  ! 
Burning  for  blood  !     Bony,  and  gaunt,  and  grim  ! 
Assembling  wolves  in  raging  troops  descend ; 
And,  pom-ing  o'er  the  country,  bear  along  ; 
Keen  as  the  north  wind  sweeps  the  glossy  snow — 
AU  is  their  prize. 

Not  long  ago,  near  one  of  the  outlying  to^vus 
in  Northern  Euasia,  on  the  borders  of  Siberia,  a 


peasant  was  hasting  over  the  last  few  leagues  of 
a  journey  ujaon  which  he  had  been  delayed.  ,He 
drove  his  master's  wain,  aud  three  sturdy  horses 
seemed  jjlenty  for  so  light  a  load,  for  the  wain 
was  empty,  but  the  snow  lay  deep,  and  Nicolai 
had  hard  work  to  get  them  through  the  heavy 
drifts.  At  length,  not  a  league  from  the  town, 
in  the  deepening  gloam,  he  missed  the  road,  and 
the  tired  animals  floiuidered  deeper  and  deeper 
in  the  yielding  drift. 

In  vain  the  jjeasant  urged  the  steeds  :  night 
fell  upon  them,  and  darlaiess  shut  them  in. 

No  one  would  have  ever  known  the  fate  of 
Nicolai  but  that  the  crimsoned-snow,  and  frag- 
ments of  flesh  and  bones  strewed  about  the  half- 
buried  waggon,  told  the  sad  tale  of  the  last  dread 
struggle  for  life,  where  man  and  horses  liad 
defended  themselves  to  the  last. 

A  horrible  fate  I  but  one  all  too  common  in. 
the  land  of  ice  and  snow.  ' 


AUNT    LOUISA'S    GOLD  BEADS. 

(Continued  frmn page  879.) 


MES.  GEEEN  heard  the  church  bells  mth- 
out  seeming  to  understand  why  they  were 
ringing  that  morning,  for  her  thoughts  went  back 
— back  to  the  time  when  she  was  a  little  girl, 
full  of  faults  and  weaknesses,  when  her  mother's 
gentle  counsel  and  loving  hand  had  led  her 
along,  through  all  the  trials  and  temptations  of 
her  young  life,  out  of  dark  paths  into  the  blessed 
light  of  truth.  And  with  the  memory  of  that 
dead  mother's  teachings  in  her  heart,  she  thought 
of  nothing  but  what  would  be  the  fittest  thing 
to  say  to  her  own  child.  Hand  in  hand,  they  sat 
and  talked,  luitil  Susie's  sobs  had  ceased,  and 
she  would  have  felt  almost  haj^py,  she  acknow- 
ledged to  herself,  but  for  her  poor  aimt's 
loss. 

'  Oh,  what  are  we  to  do  for  poor  Aunt  Louisa ? ' 
she  began  again.  '  What  will  she  say  when  she 
finds  her  beads  are  gone  ?  ' 

'  Go  to  her  the  moment  she  comes  home  from 
church,  and  tell  her  just  as  you  have  told  me, 
dear  ;  she  will  be  sure  to  forgive  you,  and  then 
we  must  take  immediate  steps  to  find  this  much- 
valued  relic.     Poor  Louisa  !  if  it  had  only  been 


some  one  else  I  That  the  loss  should  come  tO' 
her  through  you,  will  be  very  hard,  I  feel.' 

Yes,  that  was  the  only  way;  she  must  tell,  the- 
moment  they  came  in  from  church ;  and  what  a 
relief  it  would  be  to  have  it  all  done  with,  and 
have  them  see  her  in  a  true  light.  It  would  be- 
hard  to  grieve  her  good,  kind  father ;  but  she- 
would  confess  the  whole  thing,  and  then  perhaps- 
some  way  would  be  devised  for  the  chain  to  be 
found. 

But  Susie  did  not  know  what  was  going  on  at 
that  moment  in  church.  She  had  not  the  faintest 
idea  how  the  beads  would  ever  be  found,  until 
Aunt  Louisa  suddenly  burst  into  the  room  hold- 
ing the  identical  ornament  in  one  hand,  and 
leading  by  the  other  a  very  small  girl,  who,  with 
one  red  fist  screwed  into  her  left  eye,  was  man- 
aging to  shed  a  few  surprised  tears  with  the 
other. 

'  I've  had  such  a  turn,  Slaria  1 '  cried  Aunt 
Louisa,  depositing  herself  and  the  unluckj-  morsel 
of  a  child  at  the  same  time  in  a  chair.  '  My 
grandmother's  gold  beads !  I  declare  to  you 
I've  scarcely  heard  a  word  of  the  sermon;  and 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


391 


■tlio  depraved  child  says .  slie  found  tliem  on  the 
■ground  in  tlie  snow  1  How  did  tliey  get  tliere, 
Maria,  from  my  bureau  -  drawer,  right -liand 
side,  hottoni  hox,  with  the  roll  of  silk  pieces  on 
top  ?  Did  you  ever  hear  of  such  a  tale  ?  A 
Sunday  scholar,  too  I  I  haven't  had  such  a  turn 
for  years ;  my  head  is  going  round  like  a  wind- 
mill. My  grandmothers  gold  beads  in  the 
snow  I'  and  Aunt  Louisa  looked  not  only  as  if 
she  had  hysterics  once,  but  was  going  to  try  it 
again. 

Susie  sat  like  a  stone  during  these  breathless 
words,  and  as  for  the  poor  child  she  for- 
got to  cry,  and  stared  from  one  to  the  other, 
fortunately  imderstanding  very  little  of  the 
husiness.  She  vras  on  her  way  home  on  the 
night  of  Pannie's  party,  and  seeing  the  glitter 
of  the  gold  in  the  moonlight,  was  only  too 
glad  to  pick  up  the  pretty  shining  thing  and 
tie  it  about  her  neck,  and  then  wear  it  to 
Sunday  school,  for  the  very  same  reason  that  Susie 
wore  it  to  Fannie's- — 'just  to  make  the  girls 
open  their  eyes ; '  and  she  succeeded  not  only  in 
doing  that,  but  in  making  Miss  Louisa  Green 
open  hers  at  the  same  time.  Poor  lady !  she 
was  usually  so  devout  and  interested  in  the 
service,  and  often  lectured  her  niece  up)on  the 
unfortunate  habit  of  allowing  her  eyes  to  wander 
about  among  the  congregation ;  but  on  this  par- 
ticular morning  her  thoughts  would  go  astray, 
away  from  the  text  and  the  sermon,  back  to  tlie 
two  flushed,  tearful  faces  in  the  bright  little 
dressing-room  upstairs.  What  could  Maria  be 
crying  about?  Sunday  was  invariably  the  hap- 
piest day  of  all  the  week  to  her.  Susie  had 
been  out  of  sorts  for  several  days,  that  was  plain 
enough  to  be  seen ;  but  then  children  were  so  odd  I 
And  here  was  one  of  the  oddest  of  them  now,  right 
before  her  eyes. 

A  little  black  head,  covered  with  a  battered 
jockey  hat,  was  uneasily  bobbing  up  and  dovsTi 
in  the  front  seat — a  long  bench  set  apart  for 
children.  Miss  Green  knew  the  jockey  hat  and 
the  face  well;  it  belonged  to  Meg  Mc Arthur, 
one  of  the  mission  scholars;  and  Meg,  a  restless 
sprite,  and  quite  a  character  in  her  way,  was 
nodding,  laughing,  and  gesticulating  to  two  or 
three  of  the  girls  on  the  bench  with  her. 

What  audacity  I  right  under  the  niinistei-'s 
very  nose,  as  it  were  !  and  Miss  Louisa  Green 
leaned  forward,  tapped  the  offending  jockey  hat 


with  her  finger,  frowned  as  the  dark  bright  eyes 
lifted  inquiringly  to  her  face,  and  whispered 
'  Sit  still  I '  with  a  stern  shake  of  her  scanty  iron- 
gray  curls.  Meg  sat  bolt  upright  for  full  five 
minutes,  looking  straiglit  a-head  at  the  clergy- 
man, and  scarcely  daring  to  breathe,  for  she  was 
mortally  afraid  of  Miss  Green,  who  acted  as  a 
wholesome  restraint  over  the  whole  line  of  children 
seated  on  the  front  bench. 

But,  sudden  as  the  change  had  been  with  Meg, 
it  was  nothing  to  that  which  swept  over  Aunt 
Louisa.  She  was  not  only  still,  she  grew 
absolutely  rigid  I  For  the  first  time  in  her  life 
she  doubted  the  evidence  of  her  own  senses. 
With  a  sudden  gasp  she  drew  herself  up,  rubbed 
her  eyes,  put  on  her  spectacles,  and  looked  again. 
Fortunately,  the  sermon  was  over  and  they  were 
singing  the  hymn.  And  Aunt  Lousia  never 
knew  whether  she  screamed  right  out  during 
the  singing,  or  if  she  managed  to  preserve  her 
usual  calmness  to  the  end ;  for  there,  oh  I  trying 
sight !  Around  Meg's  neck  hung  her  jMoorish 
beads  1  The  beads  that  she  had  supposed  were 
wrapped  in  cotton,  and  lying  in  a  box  in  her 
bureau-drawer !  She  thought  that  she  could  ' 
have  put  her  hand  upon  them  any  time  in  the 
dark ;  the  left  hand-corner,  third  row  of  boxes, 
■with  the  roll  of  silk  patches  piled  on  top. 

For  one  brief  moment  her  heart  stood  still, 
and  then  she  leaned  forward  tapping  the  jockey 
hat  again  with  her  old  resolute  action.  '  Come  out 
with  me,'  she  whispered  ;  and  as  the  choir  sang 
'  Praise  God  from  whom  all  blessings  flow,' 
Meg  slipped  from  her  seat  and  walked  do'wn  the 
aisle  behind  Miss  Green. 

Mr.  Green  could  hardly  credit  his  senses  now. 
His  sister  must  have  been  taken  suddenly  ill, 
and  he  hurried  after  her,  just  in  time  to  meet  her 
at  his  o'wn  door,  with  Meg  tucked  up  under 
ker  arm,  and  a  grim  smile  of  satisfaction  on  her 
lips  as  she  showed  him  the  beads,  her  own 
identical  Moorish  beads,  giving  Meg's  not  very 
lucid  explanation  at  the  same  time. 

And  now  it  was  Susie's  turn  to  speak,  and 
without  an  instant's  hesitation  the  penitent  child 
told  the  whole  story,  with  eyes  cast  down  and 
brimming  over  sometimes ;  but  she  got  through 
it  all  bravely,  though  to  this  day  she  never  knew 
what  Aunt  Louisa  said  or  did.  She  heard  her 
father  shut  the  door  and  go  swiftly  downstairs 
to  the  parloui',  as  if  he  did  not  dare  trust  himself 


392 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


TllR  f^HJ  LPb 


to  speak  to  lier  just  then;  and  slie 
heard  her  aunt  saymg  something 
kindly  to  Meg,  and  she  knew  that 
Meg  went  away,  an  hour  later,  with  a 
nice  bundle  of  something  in  her  arms, 
that  was  not  too  heavy  to  hinder  her 
from  almost  dancing  down  the  front 
walk,  as  if  she  were  a  very  happy 
little  girl — far  more  happy  than  Susie 
Green,  for  ihe  flew  up  the  garret 
stairs,  sat  herself  on  an  old  blue  chest 
by  the  window,  and  cried  as  if  her 
heart  would  break,  until  the  dinner- 
bell  rang. 

Then  Susie  had  to  go  down  and 
face  Aunt  Louisa.    What  do  you  sup- 
pose she  would  have  to  say  to  her  2 
{^To  he  continued.) 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


393 


TOBY!' 

AY,  it's  many  a  tramp  we've  had, 
Through  many  a  country  lane. 
But  Toby,  dear  Toby, 

'Twill  never  be  so  again  I 
Never  be  so  again,  Tobj^ 

For  your  whimsical  days  are  done, 
And  you'll  nevermore  bark  at '  Punch,'  Toby, 
Or  join  in  the  peep-show  fun  ! 


3e 


394 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young 


Ay,  I  foimd  you  a  friendless  pup, 

Just  limpiug  along  the  street, 
For  Toby,  dea^-  Toby, 

xi  waggon  had  crush'd  your  feet ! 
Cruelly  crush'd  your  feet,  Toby, 

And  yet  nobody  cared,  not  one  ; 
So  I  carried  you  home  to  rest,  Toby, 

And  taught  you  the  peep-show  fun  ! 

And  now  you  are  sinking  fast. 

Are  getting  so  thin  and  weak. 
Oh  Toby,  dear  Toby, 

I  wish  you  could  only  speak  I 
Speak  but  a  few,  few  words,  Toby, 

Just  to  tell  me  your  love  I've  won ; 
Ah  I  you  don't  even  raise  your  head,  Toby, 

Your  whimsical  days  are  done  I 

Edwaed  Oxenfoed. 


AUNT    LOUISA'S    GOLD    BEADS. 

{Continued  from  page  392. ) 

CHAPTER  VII. HOW  AUNT  LOUISA  DISPOSED 

OP  THE  MOORISH  BEADS. 

IT  was  like  sudden  sunshine  after  a  storm 
when  Susie  opened  the  dining-room  door 
and  walked  in  to  dinner.  It  had  looked  so 
threatening  in  the  morning,  that  Miss  Louisa 
thought  proper  to  arm  herself  with  an  umbrella 
when  she  went  to  church,  but  now  the  gray 
clouds  had  melted  away,  and  the  sunshine  came 
out  brilliantly.  It  burst  like  a  flood  all  over 
the  carpet,  twinkhng  and  dancing  on  the  vines 
and  flowerpots  that  filled  the  old-fashioned 
mndows ;  and  apparently  the  storm  had  cleared 
within,  as  well  as  without,  for  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Green  and  Aunt  Louisa  were  making  great 
efforts  at  conversation,  as  Susie  slipped  into  her 
seat,  not  daring  to  look  up,  or  around,  but 
straight  before  her  at  the  food   on    her    plate. 

No  one  spoke  of  the  family  trouble,  yet  it  was 
a  hard  thing  to  think  of  anything  else.  Mr. 
Green  looked  flushed  and  disturbed,  although  he 
talked  of  the  sermon,  and  the  mission  services 
which  were  soon  to  be  held  in  the  church. 

!Mr3.  Green  seconded  his  brave  attempts,  and 
Aunt  Louisa  unsealed  her  lijis  several  times  with 
a  jerk  as  if  she  were  uncorking  a  bottle,  and  it 
required  a  pretty  hard  pull ;  but  she  couldn't  help 
looking  grave,  and  sighing  a  good  deal  more 


than  she  usually  did ;  and  in  spite  of  the- 
sunshine,  the  prettily  laid  table,  and  the  cosy 
family  of  four  surrounding  it,  there  was  a  feeling 
■\^-itli  all  that  the  old  home  serenity  was  lacking. 

Susie  only  dared  trust  herself  with  one  look  at 
Aunt  Louisa,  and  as  their  eyes  met,  the  poor 
child's  were  fuU  of  yearning. 

The  dinner  was  over  at  last ;  Mrs.  Green  went 
upi  to  her  own  room.  Aunt  Louisa  took  a  book 
and  disappeared,  and  Susie  climbed  upon  -her 
father's  knee,  laid  her  cheek  against  his  own,  and 
began  a  whispered  recital  of  her  troubles. 

\'Miatever  he  said  to  her,  comforted  her;  and 
besides  that  long,  pleasant  talk,  there  was  the 
reading,  and  the  lessons  which  had  not  been  said 
in  the  morning ;  and  when  it  was  over,  Susie  felt 
stronger  and  better,  and  brave  enough  to  go  and 
confess  her  fault  to  her  aunt.  She  slipped  from 
her  father's  knee,  gave  him  two  lingering,  loving 
Irisses,  and  dashed  up  to  Aimt  Louisa's  room. 
She  must  see  her  alone  ;  tell  her  how  sorry  she 
was,  and  ask  forgiveness ;  and  she  felt  that  then 
the  great,  long,  trying  day  would  be  ended,  and 
she  could  begin  to  enjoy  life  again.  For  Susie  had 
grown  somewhat  older  since  that  eventful  birth- 
day party.  Only  two  days  1  But  how  could  she 
have  dreamed  that  so  much  suffeiing  and  remorse 
could  be  crowded  into  two  little  days?  She  usu- 
ally dreaded  speaking  to  her  aunt  alone,  and  par- 
ticularly on  Sunday;  for  on  that  day  Miss  Green 
usually  kept  within  the  solitude  of  her  own 
apartment,  and  no  one  ever  knew  what  she  was 
about.  Susie  used  to  guess  she  was  reading,  till 
tea-time,  and  after  that  came  the  evening  ser- 
vice, and  Susie  went  to  bed  early.  Clearly,  she 
must  speak  to  her  now,  for  she  could  never, 
never  go  to  sleep  without  having  the  whole 
matter  settled.  So  she  resolutely  went  upstairs 
and  tapped  at  the  closed  door.  '  Come  in '  was 
answered,  and,  drawing  a  good  long  breath  to 
fortify  herself,  Susie  opened  the  door  softly  and 
went  in. 

Miss  Green  was  sitting  in  an  arm-chair  by  the 
window;  a  table  was  before  her,  and  she  held  a 
small  book  in  her  hand,  but  she  was  not  reading. 
She  had  taken  off  her  stiff,  black  lace  cap,  with 
its  purple  ribbons,  and  Susie  never  remembered 
seeing  her  without  it  before. 

'  Please  may  I  come  in?'  the  child  asked,  ad- 
vancing bashfully. 

'  When  I  say  "come  in,"  I  mean  "  come  in,"  ' 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


30^ 


and  the  shadow  of  a  smile  flickered  around  the 
old  lady's  moutli. 

Susie  drew  a  little  nearer  the  chair,  and  then 
hurst  out  with  '  Oh,  Aunt  Louisa,  I  came  to  ask 
you  to  forgive  me  I  Aunt  Louisa,  I  have  been 
very  disohedient  and  ungrateful  to  you,  and  I 
liave ' 

'  Tut :  tut :  is  the  child  demented  ? '  And  Aunt 
Louisa  looked  so  kind  and  pitiful.  '  I  don't  like 
to  scold  you,'  she  went  on.  'If  you  are  sorry, 
I  freely  forgive  you,  only  don't  go  and  do  the 
same  thing  over  again.' 

'  Oh,  Aunt  Louisa,  I  will  never  do  such  a 
wicked  thing  again!' 

'  It's  more  than  hkely ! '  responded  Aunt  Louisa, 
with  a  grim  sort  of  smile.  '  You  wouldn't  he 
human  if  you  didn't  go  through  life  doing  wrong 
things.' 

'  Butyoir  don't,  Auntie?' 

'  Don't  I  ?  Well,  I  feel  as  if  I  did  pretty  often.' 

'  Oh,  Aunt  Louisa,  when  were  you  ever  as 
wretched  as  I  have  been  to-day'?' 

'  When  I  was  just  about  your  age,'  said  Miss 
Green,  slowly,  '  I  suppose  you  wouldn't  dream  of 
my  having  been  a  wild,  harum-scarum  child,  hard 
to  control,  full  of  fun  and  frolic,  and  with  scarcely 
a  serious  thought  from  morning  until  night  ?' 
(To  fie  contbme.d.') 


A    COCKCHArEB    SCHOOL. 

ERTAINLY  Conrade  could  in- 
vent games,  which  his  younger 
brother,  Arthur,  thought  the 
most  delightful  in  the  world. 

It  was   the  month  of  May, 
and  the  cockchafers  were  thick 
on    the    flowering     lime-trees. 
These      cockchafers      Conrade 
would  collect  in  an  empty  cigar- 
box    and   would  then   proceed    to 
keep  school  in  a  very  serious  way, 
with  the  horny-backed  cockchafers  for  scholars. 

Arthur  was  too  much  terrified  at  the  persistent 
way  the  beetles  would  cling  to  his  hand,  to  be  at 
all  anxious  to  take  the  '  infant  class,'  as  Con- 
rade politely  invited  him  to  do,  but  he  hstened 
with  the  deepest  attention  to  Conrade' s  instruc- 
tions. 

Of  course,  as  in  real  schools,  there  was  one 
(beetle)  scholar,  who  was  lazy  and  inattentive, 


and  this  particular  scholar  was  now  the  object  of' 
Conrade's  address. 

'  The  school  may  now  disperse,'  declared 
Conrade  in  a  pompous  voice,  and  though  this 
no  doubt  sounded  very  delightful  in  the  ears 
of  the  over-taught  beetles,  they  must  have 
been  somewhat  disappointed  to  find  'disper- 
sion' only  meant  being  huddled  unceremoniously 
into  the  crowded  cigar-box,  where  Don  watched 
jealously  over  them,  and  occasionally  patted 
with  a  heavy  paw  any  beetle  of  a  wandering 
disposition. 

'  Except  Master  Brownback,'  continued 
Conrade.  '  He  will  remain  behind  to  speak  to 
the  head-master,'  And  as  he  spoke  he  caught 
hold  of  the  last  of  the  cockchafers,  and  placed 
it  on  the  back  of  his  hand,  whilst  Arthur  drew 
nearer  not  to  lose  a  word  of  the  head-master's 
speech. 

'  Master  BroAvnback  1 '  said  Conrade,  after 
sternly  regarding  the  unfortunate  cockchafer 
for  a  few  seconds,  during  which  he  taxed 
his  inventive  powers,  '  I  am  grieved  at 
your    conduct.       You   have    been   giiilty   of — 

of — of '  here  he  stammered,  being  undecided 

what  cockchafery  misconduct  he  should  accuse 
tlie  scholar  of,  and  Arthur  put  in  eagerly, — - 

'  Pinching  a  young  gentleman's  fingers  1'  but 
Conrade  waved  him  aside,  and  proceeded  with 
dignity, — 

'  You  have  been  detected  in  endeavouring  to 
escape  from  my  academy,  where  you  have  been 
treated  with  invariable  kindness.  Such  conduct 
J  cannot — I  may  not  overlook.'  Conrade  was 
now  quoting  literally  from  a  speech  his  school- 
master had  once  made  over  some  terrible  delin- 
quent.  '  It  shows  a  mind  stored  with  the  black- 
est ingratitude.  I  blush  for  you,  cockchafer — 
I  do  indeed;  would  that  you  could  blush  for 
yourself 1' 

This  was  really  expecting  too  much  from  an 
unhappy  beetle,  for  if  he  had  blushed  it  would 
not  have  shown  on  his  deep  brown  skin. 

'  Instead  of  endeavouring  to  escape,'  continued 
Conrade,-' you  should  have  not  only  remained, 
but  endeavoured  to  show  by  every  means  in 
your  power  how  much  you  appreciated  the  care 
and  kindness  bestowed  upon  you.     You  should 


Here   Mother's    voice   interrupted,    she    was 
calling   for   Conrade    to   come   and   take    care 


396 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


of  his  baby  brother  whilst  she  made  the  pud-  ought  not  to  try  and  escape  from  her.     "VYhat  do 

ding.  you  think  ?  ' 

Conrade  was  generally  ready  enough,  for  he  Conrade  stopped,  and  then  it  all  flashed  upon 

was  clever  with  children,  and  coirld  keep  restless  him,  as  he  saw  plainly  enough  that  he  too  would 


Tommy  happy,  better  than  any  one  else ;  but 
to-day  Conrade  was  so  eager  to  finish  his  play 
that  he  forgot  all  else.  '  Run,  Arthur,'  he  whis- 
pered ;  '  we'll  hide  in  the  tool-house.  Mother 
won't  think  of  looking  there  for  lis,  and  I  must 
finish  with  Master  Brownback.' 

Arthur  always  did  what  Conrade  told  him,  and 
obediently  picked  up  the  cigar-box  full  of  beetles, 
but  then  he  said  slowly, '  Shan't  we  be  like  Brown- 
back  if  we  run  away,  Conrade  ?  Mother  is  as 
good  to  us  as  you  are  to  the  beetles, — perhaps  we 


have  been  guilty  of  the  '  blaclcest  ingratitude ' 
had  he  not  done  all  in  his  power  to  help  the  good 
mother,  who  was  indeed  far  better  to  him  than 
ever  he  had  been  to  the  beetles,  for  he  was  not 
quite  sure  that  he  had  been  at  all  over -kind  to 
the  beetles  ;  for  surely  shutting  them  up  in  a 
cigar-box  was  a  dreary  amusement  for  the  poor 
things. 

'  You  are  right,  Arthur.  Empty  out  the  cigar- 
box,  and  I  will  run  in  and  amuse  Tommy,'  he 
said,   and  disappeared  into   the  house.     When 


/V//..,  . 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


897 


xVi'tliur  rejoined  liis  brother,  lie  found  Tommy 
in  a  great  state  of  bliss,  watching  Conrade,  who 
was  drawing  on  his  slate  an  exact  portrait  of 
Master  Tommy,  with  a  raven  on  one  side  and 
a  dancing  frog  on  the  other.  Thus  Conrade 
was  detemiiued  to  practise  what  he  preached, 
and  he  wished  Arthur  to  see  it ;  and  I  am  sure 
he  did  not  regret  his  decision.  After  all,  Tommy's 
soft  arms  clinging  affectionately  round  'dear 
brother  Conrade's'  neck,  were  a  pleasanter  sen- 
sation than  the  coclichafer'e  horny  gripe.  E.A.B. 


TEITZ    AND    FATHER    STORK. 


IN  Germany,  and  Holland,  and  some  other 
parts  of  Europe,  it  is  no  uncommon  sight 
to  see  the  large  nest  of  a  stork  built  con- 
spicuously  on  the  roof  of  a  house ;  and  here. 


unmolested  by  all,  the  storks  lay  their  eggs  and 
bring  up  their  young,  until  the  autumn  winds 
warn  them  that  it  is  time  to  leave  the  northern 
homes,  and  seek  refuge  in  Africa  from  the  snows 
and  frosts  which  they  are  not  fitted  to  with- 
stand. It  is  considered  good  luck  to  the 
dwellers  in  a  house  when  a  stork  settles  on  the 
roof,  and  no  one,  not  even  a  naughty  boy, 
would  dare  to  throw  a  stone,  or  in  any  way 
annoy  these  almost  sacred  birds. 

'  Tliere  goes  Father  Stork'.'  cried  Linda,  as 
she  and  her  brother  were  in  the  meadow,  one 
warm,  spring  day. 

Fritz  looked  up,  and  saw  a  stork,  with  ver- 
niilion-red  beak  and  legs,  swiftly  sailing  just 
over  their  heads  in  the  deep  blue  sky. 

Immediately  the  little  fellow  jumped  to  his 
feet,  and  lifting  up  both  his  arms  he  sang  loud 
and  clear  after  the  retreating  bird : — 

'  Father  Stork !  Father  Stork ! 
Bring  to  us  a  baby  ; 
Lay  it  on  the  gravel  walk 
If  it  be  a  lady ; 


^^J^^\'Vv'^""''"""'^^'^' 


398 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


If  a  boy  it  is  to  te, 

Place  it  'neatli  the  \Yillow  tree ; 

Be  it  girl  or  be  it  boy, 

Gift  of  thine  must  sure  be  joy.' 

And  then  he  sat  down  again  beside  his  sister, 
satisfied  that,  before  long,  his  -wish  woukl  be 
granted,  for  tlie  storks  are  firmly  believed  by  the 
German  children  to  bring  babies  and  all  other 
good  things,  and  to  drop  them  down  the 
chimney  whilst  the  world  is  asleep  ;  and  as  the 
storks  build  their  nests  on  the  chimneys,  it 
cannot  be  very  difficult  for  them  to  do  such 
things.     At  least  so  reasoned  Fritz. 

'  Do  you  want  a  baby,  Fritz  ? '  inquired 
Linda,  gravely. 

'  I  don't  know  that  I  do,'  admitted  the  boy, 
'  but  Mother  does.  I  heard  her  tell  father  only 
yesterday  that  it  made  her  heart  ache  to  look  at 
little  Lisa's  empty  chair,  and  that  in  her  sleep 
she  always  felt  her  arms  round  her  neck.  We 
shall  have  a  baby  now,  you'll  see.  The  rhyme 
never  fails,  and  Father  Stork  heard  it  plain 
enough.  Didn't  I  shout  it  out,  Linda?'  and 
Fritz  rolled  head-over-heels  in  ecstasy  at  the  re- 
membrance. 

'  Oh,  yes,  he  heard  it,'  said  Linda ;  '  and  I 
do  tliink  Mother  will  be  pleased  when  he  brings 
the  baby.' 

'Of  course  she  will  I '  declared  Friiz;  'why 
else  should  I  have  asked  the  stork  ?  We'll 
watcli  him,  Linda ;  he'll  have  to  fly  up  to 
lieaven  for  it,  you  know,  so  if  you  see  him  flying 
extra  high,  run  and  tell  mother  to  have  little 
Lisa's  crib  ready.' 

Linda  nodded  acquiescence,  and  they  spent  a 
long  time  in  deciding  whether  it  was  a  girl  or  boy 
they  most  wished  for,  Linda  inclining  to  a  girl, 
whilst  Fritz  was  for  another  boy. 


All  that  summer  did  tlio  children  watch  the 
storks,  hoping  and  longing  for  the  desired  baby ; 
but  though  '  gravel  walk '  and  '  willow  tree ' 
were  daily  visited,  no  trace  of  a  baby  was  ever 
to  be  found.  It  was  disappointing,  of  course, 
but  it  would  come  yet,  and  Fritz  and  Linda  per- 
severingly  shouted  the  rhyme,  '  Father  Stork  I 
Father  Stork  1 '  &c.,  whenever  the  bird  appeared 
in  sight. 

Autumn  w-as  rapidly  aj^proaching  ;  the  apples 


and  pears  were  weighing  down  the  trees  in  the 
orchard,  when  Fritz  came  to  Linda  in  the 
greatest  excitement. 

'  Look  at  the  stork  1  He's  going,  Linda,  he  is 
indeed ;  he's  going  to  fetch  our  baby  dovi-n  I  Run, 
Linda  I  run  and  tell  mother  to  have  the  cradle 
ready.  I  know  he's  going.  And  truly  the  stork 
was  wheeling  and  circhng  in  the  air,  mounting 
every  minute  higher  and  higher. 

Linda  gazed  up,  and,  satisfied  that  Fritz  was 
right,  ran  quickly  towards  the  house. 

'  I'll  run  to  the  willow  tree,'  shouted  Fritz, 
and  he  ran  with  all  his  might  to  the  appointed 
spot.  Alas  I  the  ground  was  slippery  and 
shelved  down  to  the  river,  and  Fritz  in  his 
eagerness  forgot  to  take  care.  Splash  I  A  shriU 
cry  of  agony  made  Linda  turn,  just  in  time 
to  see  the  waters  closing  over  Fritz's  curly 
head. 


In  the  large  sitting-room  of  the  farm  lay 
Fritz,  jjale  and  very  weak  from  the  effects  of  his 
accident,  but  eager  still  to  know  if  the  stork  had 
bronght  '  their  baby.'  He  was  so  excited  about 
it,  and  declared  so  positively  that  the  stork  was 
actually  gone  to  fetch  it,  when  he  tumbled  into 
the  water,  that  father  thought  it  best  to  tell  him 
that  the  stork  was  only  preparing  to  go  across 
the  seas  for  its  winter  home.  Fi-itz  seemed  bit- 
terly disappointed  to  hear  this,  and  lay  all  day 
quiet  and  stUl  in  his  little  bed.  Towards  evening- 
he  seemed  better,  and  begged  to  see  Linda;  so 
they  fetched  the  little  girl,  who  could  hardly 
believe  the  pale,  weak  form,  was  her  bright, 
merry  Fritz. 

'  Linda,'  said  the  little  boy,  '  the  stork's  no 
good.  Father  says  it  cannot  go  to  Heaven  ;  but 
listen,  Linda,  we  shall  go.  Mother  shall  have 
her  baby,  but  I  shall  ask  God  for  it ; '  and  Fritz, 
lay  back  with  a  calm,  happy  smile  on  his 
face. 

Poor  Fritz  was  much  weakened  by  his  acci- 
dent, and  it  A^'as  many  days  before  he  could  get 
aborxt  again.  In  the  meantime  his  father  ex- 
plained to  him  that  his  little  song  was  only  an 
old  nursery  rhyme  ;  that  the  baby  brother  or 
sister  could  come  to  them  only  in  God's  good 
time  and  in  His  own  way,  concerning  which  he 
might  be  sure  Father  Stork  knew  nothing  what- 
ever. E.  A.  B. 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


399 


LITTLE  PRAYERS  FOR  LITTLE 
THINGS. 

AT  MEALS. 

LET  me  not  be  choice  or  dainty  in  my  food, 
remembering  tliat  Thy  dearest  saints  have 
lived  on  the  coarsest  fare.  If  I  never  have 
hixnry,  make  me  content  without  it, — receiving 
all  with  gratitude,  and  partaking  with  modera- 
tion. 


FOXT'S    ADVICE. 


A  FOX  cub  asked  liis  father  one  day  if  he 
could  not  teach  him  some  trick  to  elude 
his  enemies,  the  hounds,  if  ever  he  should  fall  in 
%vitli  them. 

The  old  fox  had  grown  grey  in  a  long  life  of 
robbery  and  danger,  and  his  scars  bore  witness 
to  his  narrow  escapes  in  the  chase,  and  less 
honourable  encounters  with  the  guardians  of  the 
hen-roosts. 

He  looked  at  his  young  son  with  a  sigh,  and 
answered  :  '  After  a  very  long  experience,  I  am 
forced  to  confess  that  the  best  trick  is,  to  keep 
out  of  their  way.' 


LIFE. 

LIFE  is  made  up,  not  of  great  sacrifices  and 
duties,  but  of  little  things,  in  which  smiles 
and  kindnesses  and  small  deeds  of  love,  given  of 
habit  and  a  generous  will,  are  what  win  and 
preserve  the  heart  and  secure  comfort  and  peace. 


THE   BATTLE   OF   AGINCOURT. 

N  the  eve  before  the  battle,  the  Eng- 
lish King  heard  some  of  his  nobles 
espress  a  wish  that  the  many  brave 
men  who  were  idle  in  England 
were  there  to  assist  them ;  and  he 
cried,  '  No  I  I  must  -not  have  one 
man  more.  If  we  are  defeated,  we  are  too  many ; 
and  if  it  shall  please  God  to  give  us  the  victory, 
as  I  trust  He  wOl,  the  smaller  our  number  the 
greater  the  glory.' 

The  French  passed  the  night  in  feasting  and 
merriment ;  the  English  were  engaged  in  prayer 
and  quiet  rest.  The  result  is,  history, —  a  com- 
plete victory  for  the  small  English  army. 


EVENING    TWILIGHT. 

WHEN  I  look  up  in  the  evening. 
The  sky  is  very  dark. 
But  the  moon  doth  show  her  golden  ring. 
And  the  stars  their  tiny  spark. 

And  as  I  gaze  up  higher. 

Into  the  deep  blue  sky, 
I  fancy  I'm  in  Heaven, 

Singing  my  song  on  high. 

In  fancy,  I  see  the  snow-white  robes, 

In  fancy,  the  golden  floor. 
In  fancy,  I  see  the  golden  gates. 

Which  open  evermore. 

In  fancy,  I  see  the  angels  bright 

With  their  crowns  of  sparkling  gold, 

In  fancy,  I  see  the  crystal  sea 
FloTOng  o'er  sands  of  gold. 

G.  OliDPIELD. 


EASTERN    LIFE    IN    TENTS. 

LIFE  in  tents  has  ever  been  popular  in  the 
East,  and  among  the  peculiar  tribes  of 
the  desert  children,  whose  wandering  habits 
unfit  them  for  settled  dwelling  in  ordinary 
houses. 

The  tent  may  be  of  the  meanest-  or  most  costly 
materials,  and  is  so  easy  to  pitch  and  remove, 
that  even  outside  the  walls  of  Eastern  cities  may 
constantly  be  seen  the  camps  and  tents  of  the 
nomad  families. 

The  Bedouins  have  a  fixed  plan  for  the 
arrangement  of  their  tent  village, — that  of  the 
sheik  or  head  of  the  tribe  is  first  pitched ;  then, 
on  either  side  of  it,  the  tents  of  his  mves  and 
children ;  next,  on  the  right,  are  tethered  the 
camels,  and  on  the  left,  the  horses  and  mules, 
while  outside,  all  in  a  circle,  are  the  tents  of  the 
main  body  of  the  tribe.  The  sheik's  tent 
is  always  distinguished  by  a  tall  spear  witli 
a  flag. 

Perhaps  one  of  the  reasons  why  the  sites  of 
many  of  the  Syrian  towns  and  resting-places  of 
the  children  of  Israel  mentioned  in  the  Bible 
can  never  be  discovered,  is  because  they  were 
only  tent  villagers'  encampments,  which,  when 
removed,  would  leave  no  traces  behind,  like  the 
cities  with  gates  and  bars,  or,,  as  the  Bible  ex- 
presses it,  '  cities  great,  and  walled  up  to 
heaven.' 


400 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


Outside  Cairo. 


SuNDA  Y  Reading  for  the  Young. 


The  Family  Heirloom. 


402 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


AUNT     LOUISA'S     GOLD     BEADS. 

(Concluded  from 'page  395.) 


WAS  young,  Susie ' —  and  Aunt 
Louisa's  voice  took  a  softer  tone  than 
usual — '  I  was  a  young  girl  when  my 
father  died,  but  I  was  the  oldest  of 
the  family,  and  I  had  to  share  the 
care  and  the  trouble  with  my  poor 
mother ;  the  children  came  to  me 
for  lessons  and  for  advice,  and  when  at 
last  my  mother  died,  I  had  to  take  her  place 
and  bear  it  all  alone.  There  wasn't  very 
much  life  left  in  me  after  all  that.  It  made 
me  irritable  and  sharp  and  old  in  my  ways, 
to  have  business,  household,  and  family  cares 
thrust  upon  me  at  once,  but  I  found  out  then 
that  I  had  a  Friend — a  Friend  nearer  and 
dearer,  and  stronger  to  lean  upon,  than  either 
father  or  mother.  I'm  a  cross,  crabbed  old 
woman  now,  Susie  dear ;  but  I  love  the  Hand 
that  has  led  me  safe  through  it  all;  and  I  want 
you  to  love  it,  and  lean  on  it,  too.  I  want  you 
to  grow  up  to  be  a  good,  honest  woman ;  to  lead 
a  useful,  happy  life  ;  and  I  pray  that  you  may 
have  as  little  care  and  sorrow  as  it  is  jjossible  to 
have  here.  But  you  have  work  before  you  child. 
At  the  best,  life  is  a  battle.  And  let  me  tell  you 
now,  your  besetting  sin  is  vanity.  It  seems  to 
come  naturally  to  young  girls ;  but  don't  foster 
the  wealaiess,  it  grows  fast  enough,  and  your 
greatest  care  -will  be  needed  to  keep  that  weed  well 
cropped.  And  a  vanity  that  leads  one  to  desire 
ornaments  and  gewgaws  is  very  apt  to  lead  one 
into  all  sorts  of  sins  to  get  them — first,  covetous- 

ness,  pride,  envy,  disobedience, ' 

'  Theft,'  added  Susie,  promptly  ;  '  say  it  right 
out.  Auntie.  I've  called  myself  a  thief  ever  since 
that  party,  and  I  never,  never  shall  forget  the 
awful  feeling  that  I  had  when  Fannie  told  me 
this  morning  that  the  beads  could  not  be  found 
— that  they  had  searched  everywhere  in  vain.' 

'  Let  this  be  a  warning  to  you,  then,  and  be 
thankful  that  you  had  a  dear  father  and 
mother.' 

'  And  a  dep.^,  good  auntie ! '    burst  out  Susie 

enthusiastically,  and,  throwing  her  arms  about 

her  aunt's  neck,  she  kissed  her  on  each  faded 

cheek  with  an  imjTOlse  she  could  not  resist. 

And  Aunt  Louisa  liked  it  ?     Oh  dear,  yes  ! 


she  liked  it  amazingly.  All  crusty  people  like  it; 
half  of  them  only  wear  that  gruff  way,  as  Armt 
Louisa  did,  like  a  mask,  to  be  dropped  when 
occasion  offered  ;  and  having  drojsped  it  in  this 
instance,  it  appeared  that  Miss  Green  would  not 
jaut  it  on  again,  at  least  with  her  niece,  for  a  very 
long  time,  for  she  drew  the  child  upon  her  knee 
and  kept  her  aiTa  around  her  lovingly  as  she 
went  on :  'And  now  I've  been  thinking  it  all  over, 
and  I  shall  give  you  a  present,  as  a  reminder  of 
this  day,  and  a  sort  of  compact  between  us — for 
I  think  we  shall  understand  each  other  better 
after  this  talk  than  we  have  ever  done  before.  It, 
is  a  present  that  I  think  you  need,  and  I  hope  it 
will  do  you  good  as  well  as  me.' 

'  A  present  for  me '? '  gasped  Susie,  with  a 
feeling  as  if  she  would  give  way  altogether  now. 
'  ^Tiy,  Aunt  Louisa,  what  do  you  mean '?  1 
ought  to  be  punished  instead  of  receiving  a 
present.' 

'  Nevertheless,'  continued  Miss  Green,  '  I  shall 
give  it  to  you.  I  have  been  thinking  it  all  over, 
and  I  know  my  grandmother  would  do  the  same 
thing  if  she  were  in  my  place  to-day.  Here  are 
the  Moorish  beads.  They  are  yours  now — 
yours  to  keep  always.' 

'  Mine  ? '  faltered  Susie,  as  she  looked  at  the 
ghtteriag  bauble  that  Aunt  Louisa  had  taken 
from  the  table  and  laid  across  her  lap.  '  Oh,  no, 
no  I  not  for  me,  please, — not  for  me  I  give  them 
to  somebody  else — somebody  that  is  good  and 
deserves  the  beautiful  things !  I  never,  never  can 
wear  them  again  1  never,  never  I ' 

'Keep  them  to  look  at  then,  dearie.  Put  them 
in  your  drawer  just  where  you  may  see  them 
every  day.  Let  them  preach  just  as  many  sermons 
to  you  as  you  need.  I  give  them  to  you  for  a  help.' 

'  But  it  seems  like  a  cross — almost,'  said  the 
child  under  her  breath. 

'  Take  it,  all  the  same, — a  cross  and  a  help. 
I  pray  that  it  may  be  both  to  you — the  cross  is 
all  the  more  iDrecious  when  it  is  a  heavy  one  to 
bear.' 

Was  this  to  be  the  end  of  the  talk  she  had 
dreaded?  Was  this  all  the  punishment  that  sh,e 
was  to  suffer  for  her  wrong-doing?  Was  this  the 
crustv,  cross  old  aunt,  from  whom  she  took  the 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


403 


beads,  witli  a  feeling  that  she  was  '  serving  her 
iust  right '  for  being  so  stingy  and  mean?  And 
Snsie,  in  an  agony  of  shame,  hid  her  face  in  her 
apron,  and  had  not  a  word  to  say,  while  Miss 
Green,  after  a  little  dry  cough — it  might  have 
been  almost  of  embarrassment,  for  the  situation 
was  new  to  her,  as  well  as  to  Susie — leaned 
forward  rather  abruptly,  kissed  her  niece  again, 
and  said  in  her  old  tone  of  voice,  '  Euh  away, 
<?hild,  run  away  now.  or  I  shall  get  cross  again; 
you've  distui'bed  me  now,  enough ;  run  down- 
stairs and  put  yoirr  beads  where  you  can  see 
them  every  day.' 

Susie  took  doAvn  her  apron,  said,  '  I  cwCt 
thank  you — you  know  I  can't,'  in  a  muffled  sort  of 
voice,  kissed  her  aunt  again,  and  slipped  out  of 
the  room. 

I  think  the  child  knew  how  Christian  felt,  when 
the  burden  tumbled  off  his  back,  as  she  went 
down  the  stairs,  for  when  she  reached  her  own 
room,  she  knelt  do'mi  by  the  bed,  with  her  beads 
still  in  her  hand,  and  asked  God  to  forgive  her  and 
help  her,  in  the  heartiest,  simplest,  most  devout 
prayer  that  she  had  ever  made  in  her  life.  She  felt 
so  hght-hearted  and  happy  after  that,  that  she 
could  not  help  opening  the  closet  door,  and  im- 
parting the  delight  to  her  large  family  of  paper 
dolls,  who  were  keeping  Sunday  very  quietly,  all 
in  a  row  on  an  upper  shelf,  and  she  begged  them 
to  be  good  children  and  never  to  steal  for  a  living, 
as  it  caused  a  great  deal  of  mischief,  and,  in 
short,  was  very  wicked. 

And  then,  with  a  glow  of  shame  on  her  face 
still,  she  put  her  amit's  most  unexpected  gift  in 
her  bureau-drawer,  right  where  slie  could  see  it 
the  first  thing  in  the  morning. 

'  I  shall  never  wear  you,'  she  said,  as  her 
cheeks  glowed  again  ;  '  I  shall  never  wear  you, 
you  pretty,  pretty  things ;  but  I'll  keep  you, 
and  look  at  you  eveiy  day,  maybe  you  will  do 
me  good ;  at  all  events,  I  shall  try.' 

And  she  did  try,  and  she  succeeded ;  for 
when  Aunt  Louisa's  grave  had  been  gi-een  for 
many  a  leng  year,  a  gentle,  tender-eyed  lady, 
who  looked  strangely  like  the  little  blue-eyed 
Susie,  used  to  gather  her  own  children  about  her 
Imee,  and  as  she  showed  them  the  curious  old 
beads,  that  had  now  indeed  become  an  heir-loom 
in  the  family,  she  told  them  the  story  of  Susie 
Green,  and  the  lesson  that  she  learned  day  by 
day  from  Aunt  Louisa's  gold  beads. 


'BABT'S    TOYS.' 

HE  laughed  and  crowed  with  childish  glee. 
And  played  with  them  all  the  day, 
A  horse,  and  a  cart,  most  grand  to  see. 

New-painted,  bright  and  gay. 
He  eyed  them  with  pride,  and  stroked  the  neck 

Of  his  gallant  and  dasliing  roan. 
For  the  finest  was  he,  ■without  spot  or  speck. 
That  baby  had  ever  known. 

But  now  they  stand  on  the  cupboard-shelf. 

And  a  woeful  pair  are  they  ; 
The  gallant  horse  scarce  laiows  himself — 

With  his  mane  all  rubbed  away. 
No  gleams  of  sjjlendid  red  and  blue 

On  the  battered  cart  appear. 
For  the  dust  lies  thickly  on  the  two. 

In  their  place  in  the  cupboard  drear. 

They  know  not  why  they  rest  all  day, 

And  vaguely  wonder  much 
Why  they  never  share  in  any  play, 

Or  feel  a  youthful  touch. 
And  the  children  come — an  awe-struck  row 

Of  blue-eyed  girls  and  boys, 
And,  looking  up,  they'd  tell  you,  low. 

That  those  are  '  Baby's  toys.'  B.  D.  F. 


EVERYBODY'S    COKNER. 

EMBLEM  OF  THE  TKINITY. 

'/^T  Crowland,  in  Lincolnshire,  there  is 
■■  -        a  bridge  of  very  great  age,  built 
in  three  equal  arches,  crossed  by 
three   equal   roads,   meeting  in  a 
common  centre. 
There  is  a  tradition  that  it  was  built 
by  the  monks  in  the  days  of  Ethelbert 
as  a  symbol  of  the  Holy  Trinity ;  and 
the  following  lines  are  said  to  have  been 
suggested  by  that  circimistance  : — 

'  Ye  monks,  who  in  your  gloomy  cloisters  kept. 
That  sacred  volume  which  for  ages  slept 
In  superstition's  dark  and  dreary  night. 
You  still  preserved  some  feeble  gleam  of  light : 
Yes,  when  your  labours  did  a  bridge  design. 
It  taught  the  great,  soul-saving  truth  divine, 
That  weary  pilgrims  from  afar  might  see 
A  strikino-  emblem  of  the  One  in  Three.' 


404 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


THE    GOAT. 


g^  HE  ancient  representation  of  tliis  month  of  December  is  an  old 
man,  with  a  grim  countenance,  clothed  with  furs,  wearing 
several  caps  on  his  head,  and  having  a  very  red  nose  and  beard, 
from  which  hang  icicles.  On  his  back  is  a  bundle  of  holly  and 
ivy,  and  in  one  of  his  hands,  which  are  in  furred  gloves,  the 

Goat,  which  is  an  emblem  of  the  Sun's  entry  into  the  tropic  of  Capricornus,  on 

the  twenty-second  of  the  month. 


SuNDA  Y  Reading  for  the  Young. 


405 


GOBBLE-UP! 

A  TRUE  STORY  OP  AN  OGRE. 

THE  children  had  been  ' dressing  up,'  and  at 
the  bottom  of  the  himber-box  in  the  attic 
they  had  found  a  large  hat,  something  like  a 
cavaher's,  with  a  long  white  ostrich  feather  on 
one  side.  Of  course,  all  ■vsished  to  wear  it,  and 
as  the  hat,  large  as  it  was,  could  scarcely  accom- 
modate four  heads,  wise  httle  Ursula  suggested 
a  plan. 

'  Let  us  each  wear  it  in  turn,'  she  said,  '  and 
the  one  who  has  it  on 
must  tell  a  story — a 
tiTie  story  it  must  be.' 

The  plan  gave  sa- 
tisfaction ;  each  child 
in  turn  wore  the  co- 
veted hat,  and  told 
a  tale  of  some  sort. 
Just  as  the  last  was 
finished.  Mother  came 
in,  and  mischievous 
Vivia  quickly  placed 
the  hat  on 
her  head  and 
called  out — • 

'  A  story. 
Mother !  a 
story!  That 
is    the    rule 

for  whoever     '^  ^'"'"'      — == — .. _=__= 

wears     the 

cavalier's  hat.'  And  Mother  was  ready  to 
oblige  the  children,  as  she  alwaj's  is,  and  began 
at  once. 

'  I  wiU  tell  you  the  story  of  Gobble-up.' 

'  Is  it  true  ? '  asked  curly-haired  Alicia, 
'because  these  stories  nwisf  be  true.' 

'  It  is  perfectly  true,'  said  Mother,  earnestly  ; 
and  AHcia  gave  a  deep  sigh  of  content.  Gobble- 
up  was  such  a  delightful  name  !  She  was  so 
glad  not  to  have  the  story  stopped. 

'  When  I  was  your  age,'  continued  Mother,  '  I 
lived  in  Switzerland,  and  used  to  go  long  walks 
up  the  hills  with  my  brothers  and  sisters.  One 
very  favourite  walk  of  ours  led  up  to  a  little 
village,  where  there  was  a  celebrated  spring  of 
water.  This  water  was  conducted  by  pipes  to 
a  large  to\^^^  many  miles  awaj',  and  at  certain 
places  in  the  hUl-side  there  were  little   doors, 


made,  I  suppose,  for  the  convenience  of  the 
engineers,  who  might  wish  to  see  if  the  pipes 
were  in  proper  condition.  Passing  the  doors, 
one  could  hear  the  water  roaring  and  hissing  in 
a  truly  alamiing  manner.  My  youngest  brother 
informed  us  one  day  that  Gobble-up  lived  there, 
and  that  he  always  ran  very  quickly  past  these 
doors,  to  avoid  being  caught  by  the  monster. 
We  somehow  took  up  the  idea,  and  came  at  last 
almost  to  believe  that  some  fierce  ogre  really  did 
live  on  that  lonely  hill-side.  We  believed  it  all 
the  more  because  whenever  we  went  this  par- 
ticular walk  some  mis- 
fortmie  was  sure  to  hap- 
pen to  us,  and  we  always 
put  it  down  to  Gobble- 
up's  spite. 

'  One  day  my  eldest 
brother  lost  his  coat ;  it 
was  very  hot,  and 
he  had  taken  it  off 
and  slung  it  over 
his  arm,  and  some- 
how lost  it.  We 
turned  back 
at  once  and 
searclied  for 
it,  but  we  ne- 
ver found  it. 
"  Of  course 
not  1 ''  said 
the  coatless 
one,  as  he 
was  walking  home  in  his  shirt-sleeves ;  "  Gobble- 
up  has  it:  it  is  cold  for  him  underground." 
Another  time,  a  friend  who  was  with  us  lost  a 
handsome  brooch,  and  the  very  week  after  both 
my  sisters  lost  their  hats !  Gobble-up  was 
blamed  for  all  these  misfortunes  ;  but  he  did 
worse  than  this.  Tired  of  hats  and  jackets,  he 
claimed  what  my  brother  called  a  "human 
sacrifice  I"  We  were  taking  a  cousin  this  stiU 
favourite  walk  of  ours,  and  had  just  whispered 
to  each  other  "  that  she  must  have  broken  the 
spell,  for  we  Iwid  had  no  misfortune  all  that 
day,"  when,  close  by  our  home,  she  shpped — it 
was  -ninter,  and  the  roads  wei-e  icy — and  sprained 
her  wrist  badly.  That  was  the  worst  thing 
Gobble -up  ever  did ;  and  after  this  it  would 
have  been  vain  to  try  and  persuade  little  Claude 
that  Gobble-up  was  not  a  real,  true  ogre.     In- 


40G 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


deed,  I  laiow  now  very  well  that  he  was  an 
ogre,  and  a  dangerous  ogre  too  ! '  , 

'  Oh,  Mother,'  interrupted  the  children,  '  you 
said  this  should  be  a  true  story  I  How  can  there 
he  ogres  now-a-days  ?  ' 

Mother  smiled:  '  Gohhle-up's  true  name  was 
Carelessness,'  she  said  softly,  and  gave  the 
•plumed  hat  back  to  Vivia.  C.  A.  B. 


SYLVIA'S 
SACRiriCE. 

YLVIA  :  Sylvia  ! 
where  is  Sylvia  ?  ' 
and  some  merry 
children  ran  hither 
and  thither  in  that 
pleasant  garden  in 
search  of  the  lost 
sister. 

Sylvia  heard 
their  voices,  and 
even  stopped  a 
minute  ui  her  work 
to  listen,  almost 
''l^-f  regretfully,  to  the 
_^y  shouts  as  they  gra- 
dually died  away 
down  the  lower 
avenue.  She  would 
dearly  have  loved 
to  join  their  game  ;  but  '  business  first,  ideasure 
afterwards,'  said  resolute  little  Sylvia,  as,  -wdth  a 
comical  reproduction  of  her  mother's  earnest 
manner,  she  applied  herself  with  fresh  energy  to 
her  work. 

'  What  could  it  be  ?  '  You  want  to  laiow,  of 
course,  '  what  should  prevent  that  little  girl 
from  pla3dng,  this  bright  spring  day  ? '  Why, 
it  is  this :  Sylvia  is  very  busy  mending  up  all 
her  doll's  clothes,  for  dolly — her  best  doll,  her 
long-treasured  darling,  'Amy  Lavinia  Kidbody  ' 
by  name — is  to  go  this  very  day  to  the  hospital 
in  the  neighbom-ing  to-wn,  and  of  course  no 
parent  would  wish  her  child  to  be  sent  out  into 
the  world  with  a  shabby  trousseau ;  and  so 
Mother,  to  whom  Sylvia  has  told  her  intentions, 
has  had  all  Miss  Amy  Lavinia  Kidbody's 
clothes  beautifully  washed  and  ironed  at  the 
real  wash,  and  the  old  cradle  has  been  fresh 
covered,    and    everything   is    as   good   as  new 


again.  The  only  thing  left  to  he  done  is  the 
knitted  counterpane,  which  requires  a  little  darn- 
ing, and  this,  Sylvia  (wth  much  too  long  a 
thread  in  her  needle)  is  trying  her  best  to  mend ; 
and  it  must  be  finished  this  afternoon,  for  before 
tea  Mother  is  going  to  fasten  up  the  box  of  toys, 
and  the  gardener  will  take  it  in  the  cart  to  the 
hospital,  properly  labelled  and  directed  for  the 
'  Children's  Ward.' 

Now  you  Imow  why  it  is  that  Sylvia  would 
not  join  in  the  games  ;  but  perhaps  you  do  not 
know  that  Sylvia,  when  she  had  finished  the 
counterpane,  and  covered  Miss  Kidbody  snugly 
in  her  cradle,  took  the  dear  doUy  once  more  out 
of  her  bed,  and  wept  and  sobbed  over  her  with 
the  most  real,  most  sorrowful,  tears  that  could 
possibly  be  shed  by  a  little  girl  who  was  but 
seven  last  birthday. 

You  see,  the  doll  was  not  a  doll  to  loving, 
imaginative  Sylvia,  it  was  as  a  real  baby ;  for 
there  was  no  other  baby  in  that  house  (Sylvia 
was  the  youngest  child),  and  Amy  had  been  her 
Ijlajrfellow  and  her  darhng  as  long  as  she  could 
remember.  Then  why  did  she  give  it  away  ? 
Just  for  this  very  reason  :  hecaiise  it  was  so 
dear  to  her.  She  had  learnt  enough  of  giving 
to  laiow  that  that  is  no  true  gift  which  costs 
nothing  to  the  giver ;  and  when  she  heard  that 
toys  were  wanted  for  the  Children's  Ward,  she 
made  up  her  mind  to  send  Amy  Lavinia  Kid- 
body. 

Now  she  hears  herself  called  again.  This 
time  it  is  her  mother's  voice,  '  Sylvia  I  Sylvia, 
my  darling  I  Is  the  dolly  ready  ?  I  am  going 
to  pack  the  box.' 

Sylvia  crouched  down  on  the  soft,  green 
grass,  put  Amy  again  in  her  cradle,  and  Irissed 
her  ■^A'ith  another  burst  of  tears.  '  I'll  never, 
never,  never  forget  you,  my  own  baby  1 '  she 
sobbed :  and  then  she  dried  her  tears,  took  up 
the  cradle,  and  walked  bravely  -with  it  to  the 
house ;  and  Topsy,  the  black  kitten,  followed, 
rubbing  herself  feelingly  against  Sylvia's  legs. 
Pussy  appeared  to  know  that  her  little  mistress 
wanted  comforting,  so,  leaving  off  chasing  and 
patting  such  of  the  silly  butterflies  as  were 
foolish  enough  to  come  within  her  reach,  she 
'  snugged  up '  against  the  sad  child,  and  tried, 
by  dumb  spnpathy,  to  comfort  her.  And 
Topsy's  efforts  were  not  fruitless :  even  a  cat's 
love  is   precious  when   one  is  in  trouble :    and 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


407. 


Sylvia  cawg'lit  np  Pussy,  and  with  the  cradle  in 
Lei'  hands,  and  Topsy  under  her  arm,  walked 
bravely  to  the  house.  Perhaps  it  was  the  feeling 
that,  at  any  rate,  soft,  mischievous  Pussy,  was 
left  to  her,  which  enahled  Sylvia  to  answer  so 
brightly  to  her  mother's  inquiry  '  Whether  she 
could  really  part  A'sdth  the  dolly  ? '  '  I'm  glad  for 
her  to  go,  Blother.'  she  said ;  '  the  poor  sick 
children  want  toys,  and  I've  so  many  pleasures  1' 
And  she  fetched  the  nails  and  hammer,  and  stood 
quietly  by  as  Mother  fastened  up  the  large  toy- 
box. 

It  might  have  been  partly  on  account  of 
Topsy's  caressing  ways,  as  I  said,  that  Sylvia 
could  act  so  bravely  ;  but  I  think  there  was 
also  another,  a  deeper  feeling,  in  that  childish 
heart.  She  was  glad  to  have  found  an  oppor- 
tunity for  real,  self-denial  for  others,  and  a  text 
she  had  learnt  long  ago  kept  recurring  to  her 
mind,  '  Neither  will  I  offer  unto  the  Lord  my 
God  of  that  which  doth  cost  me  nothing.' 


It  is  autumn  now.  Once  more  the  children 
are  in  the  garden,  but  Sylvia  is  not  amongst 
them,  and  no  noisy  shouts  are  to-day  raised  for 
that  little  sister,  who  is  generally  so  necessary  to 
all  the  games.  Indeed,  there  seems  neither 
noise  nor  gaiety  left  amongst  them,  as  they 
walk  quietly  up  and  down  the  terrace,  raising 
their  eyes  very  frequently  up  to  that  corner 
window,  w'here  the  green  blind  is  so  carefully 
drawn  down.  By-and-by  a  caniage  appears  in 
the  avenue,  and  the  children's  faces  brighten,  for 
it  is  the  doctor's  brougham,  and  besides  being  a 
great  friend  of  theirs,  they  are  just  now  especially 
glad  of  his  arrival,  for  they  have  been  told  that 
Sylvia  is  very  ill  indeed. 

'  Here's  Dr.  Hen  ton  ;  what  a  blessing  I '  says 
schoolboy  Harry,  who  is  impatient  at  the  general 
sadness  which  he  cannot  help  sharing.  '  Now 
all  ^'^-ill  be  right ;  he'll  cure  Sylvia ;  he's  wonder- 
fully clever.'  They  watch  for  his  reappearance 
from  the  sick-room,  but  he  is  a  long  time  there, 
and  with  each  minute  the  children's  hearts  grow 

heavier.  -^r      ,  j  j  •  .. , 

\Uonclua&a  xn  our  next.) 


THE  WAY   TO    GET  KNOWLEDGE. 

A  PERSIAN  sage  being  asked  by  what 
means  he  had  acquired  so  much  know- 
ledge, answered,  '  I  was  never  ashamed  to  ask 
questions  when  I  was  ignorant.' 


he 


GBANDEATHER'S 
LESSON. 

TEPHEN  HERRMAN  thought 
a  good  deal  of  himself;  he  was 
actually  big  enough  to  have  a 
watch.  Grandfather  had  promised 
him  one  on  his  thirteenth  birth- 
day, and  it  had  come  at  last, 
shouted,  as  he  ran  downstairs  to 
the  garden ;  and  a  very 
received   from  them  all — • 


That  you  may  be  loved,  be  loving. 

Ovid. 


Huzza 
gTeet   his   sisters  in 
happy   welcome   he 
TOshing  him  many,  many  happy  returns  of  the 
day. 

At  breakfast,  all  his  presents  came ;  what  a 
list  of  them  there  were !  father's  and  mother's 
first :  from  the  former  a  handsome  writing-case, 
and  from  the  latter  a  beautiful  Bible  with  carved 
wood  cover,  just  suitable  for  keeping  on  the  little 
stand  on  the  dressing-table  in  his  bedroom,  so 
that  he  might  be  reminded  night  and  monring 
of  his  promise  to  read  a  few  verses  of  a  chapter, 
and  ask  God's  blessing  and  forgiveness.  '  I'U 
try,  dear  mother,  never  to  forget  it.' 

Then  the  other  jolly  presents  I  Prom  Lisa, 
a  new  tennis  -  racket,  a  pencU  -  case  from  the 
two  little  ones,  a  little  picture  framed  from 
nurse,  and,  last,  Grandfather's  promised  silver 
watch. 

Grandfather  looked  very  serious  as  he  gave 
the  watch  into  Stephen's  hands.  '  Dear  lad,'  he 
said,  '  on  this  day  let  there  be  nothing  but  loving 
wishes  for  you,  but  you  will  be  none  the  worse  if 
I  give  you  one  word  of  advice  with  this  gift ;  it 
wiU  serve  ever  to  remind  you  of  Grandfather's 
lesson  when  he  is  gone  :  when  the  wheels  of 
the  watch  move  inside  it,  the  hands  on  the  out- 
side dial  move  too ;  and  when  the  heart  is  right 
and  honest,  the  words  and  acts  will  be  so  too. 
Don't  forget  that  you  are  like  this  watch,  and 
that  yoiu'  deeds  will  ever  be  the  index  of 
what  goes  on  within.'  And  then  he  held  up 
the  watch  for  the  children  to  admire  before 
he  gave  it  into  Stephen's  o^^n  hands  for  good 
and  aU.  H. 


408 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


I 


*<*'^  ■-* 


>.  -*-«ows 


Y 


Grandfatlier's  LessoHi 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


409 


An  Eastern  Beauty. 
3g 


410 


SuNDA  Y  Reading  for  the  Young. 


AN    EASTERN"    BEAUTY. 

FEOM  the  earliest  times,  a  love  of  ornament 
has  been  one  of  the  traits  in  the  Eastern 
character.  From  the  days  when  the  Israelites 
spoiled  the  people  of  Pharaoh,  mitil  the  pres  ;nt, 
the  Egyptians  have  had  their  bracelets,  and 
earrings,  and  necklets,  and  they  have  been  to 
them  a  pleasure  and  delight. 

It  is  hard  for  us  to  realise  how  much  the 
women  of  the  East  value  these  outward  adorn- 
ments of  their  jDersons. 

A  missionary  in  Burmah  tells  of  a  Karen 
woman  who  offered  herself  for  baptism.  After 
examining  her  as  to  her  sincerity,  he  inquired  of 
her,  '  M^hether  she  would  give  up  her  ornaments 
for  Christ?' 

It  was  an  unexpected  question,  and  almost 
shook  her  resolution. 

The  missionary  explained  what  such  a  sacrifice 
on  her  part  meant ;  he  apisealed  to  her  conscious- 
ness of  vanity,  and  read  and  explained  the 
ninth  verse  of  the  second  chapter  of  St.  Paul's 
first  Epistle  to  Timothy. 

She  looked  again  and  again  at  her  handsome 
necklace,  and  then  at  last,  with  an  air  of  decision 
and  with  23erfect  modesty,  she  took  it  off, 
saying,  '  Yes  1    I  love  Christ  more  than  this.' 

But  to  act  thus  is  a  great  sacrifice,  for  a 
woman's  ornaments  of  gold  and  silver  in  Eastern 
lands  are  almost  all  that  she  can  call  her  own ; 


naj',  as  6ften  as  not,  she  cannot  call  herself  her 
own,  but  is  the  slave  as  well  as  wife  of  her 
husband,  lord,  and  master. 

Very  often  her  necklet  has  a  little  heart- 
shaped  box  attached  to  it  as  a  pendant,  and  tliis 
contains  two  of  her  most  cherished  toilet 
requisites, — the  betel  nut,  which  the  Eastern 
beauty  chews  m  order  to  make  the  teeth  white, 
and  the  black  powder  with  which  to  darken  her 
eyelashes  and  eyebrows. 


CHRISTMAS    GREETING, 

A  HAPPY  Christmas,  boys  and  girls!!! 
Once  more  the  joyous  time  comes  when 
we  shake  hands  with  old  Father  Christmas. 

Once  again  our  happy  circle  of  faces  beam 
with  smiles  around  the  fireside. 

One  thought  we  may  have  in  the  midst  of  aU 
our  joy  :  How  have  we  been  getting  on  ?  for  we 
are  aU  growing.  Have  we  grown  wiser  as  well 
as  taller?  better  as  well  as  older?  A  new  year 
wiU  soon  be  born,  and  we  must  all  try  so  to  live 
that  at  the  end  of  it,  if  God  spares  our  life,  we 
may  have  nothing  to  mar  our  Christmas  joy ; 
we  are  sure  to  remember  failings  and  falls,  but 
if  we  try  to  keep  close  to  Him,  He  vnll  give  us  a 
double  portion  of  happiness  and  blessedness  in 
the  Christmas  greetings  of  our  friends,  and  a 
'Happy  Christmas'  -will  be  ours.  H.  C. 


JOY  IN  HEAVEN. 


THERE  was  joy  in  heaven. 
There  was  joy  in  heaven, ' 
When,  the  goodly  world  to  frame, 
Tlio  Lord  of  might  and  mercj'  came ! 
Shouts  of  joy  were  heard  on  high, 
And  the  stars  sang  from  the  sky. 

Glory  to  God  in  heaven !' 

There  was  joy  in  heaven. 
There  was  joy  in  heaven. 
When  the  billows,  heaving  dark, 
Sank  around  the  stranded  ark, 
And  tlie  rainbow's  watery  space 
Spake  of  mercy  to  man's  race. 

And  peace  with  God  in  heaven ! 


There  was  joy  in  heaven. 

There  was  joy  in  heaven, 

When  of  love  the  midnight  beam 

Da\^Tied  on  the  tow'rs  of  Bethlehem  ; 

And  along  the  echoing  hill 

Angels  sang,  '  On  earth  good-will, 

And  glory  in  the  lieaven  ! ' 

There  is  joy  in  heaven, 

There  is  joy  in  heaven, 

\'\'hen  the  sheep  that  went  astray 

Turns  again  to  virtue's  way ; 

When  the  soul,  by  grace  subdued. 

Sobs  its  prayer  of  gratitude, 

Tiien  there  is  joy  in  heaven. 

He1!EK. 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


Mi 


THE    OLD  YEAR. 

'  T  IME  and  Tide  for  no  man  wait ;' 
H  eed  tlie  proverb,  tliougli  'tis  old. 
E  very  head  must  bend  to  Fate ; 
O  Id  and  young,  the  poor,  the  great, 
L  eave  this  life  and  turn  to  mould. 
D  eath  wU  come,  then  haste,  prepare ! 
Y  outh's  the  time  to  sow  the  field ! 
E  very  good  deed,  every  prayer, 
A  ngels  shall  record,  and  there 
E.  epentauce  shall  redemption  yield. 

A.  B.  C. 


SYLVIA'S    SACRIFICE. 

(Concluded  from  page  407.) 

length  the  door  opens,  and 
Harry  runs  forward,  but  is 
motioned  back  by  the  ser- 
vant. '  What  is  that  large 
bundle  of  blankets  in  the 
doctor's  arms  ? '  The  chil- 
dren cannot  think,  but  they  hear 
the  order,  '  Drive  quickly  to 
the  hospital,'  and  in  almost  an 
instant  the  little  brougham  is  but 
a  speck  in  the  distance  ;  and  the 
servant  turns  to  the  astonished 
party,  and  says  sadly,  '  I  do  hope 
IdU  Miss  Sylvia  in  that  there 
do  seem  hard  the  poor  child 
should  be  sent  off  in  that  way ; '  and  the 
children,  more  bewildered  than  ever,  long  to 
be  able  to  go  and  see  Mother,  who  will  ex- 
plain this  mystery  to  them.  But  Mother  is 
upstairs  with  a  little  baby  not  three  days  old, 
and  Baby's  new  nurse  is  such  a  stern-looking 
person,  that  even  Harry  dare  not  Icnock  at  the 
door ;  so  the  children  go  to  Cook,  who  has 
known  them  all  from  babyhood  and  loves  them 
as  her  own.  She  is  crying  over  her  preserves, 
but  welcomes  them  all  the  same,  and  hugs  all  of 
them,  even  big  Harry,  as  she  brings  them  into  her 
own  little  room  and  makes  tea  for  them,  and  tells 
them  all  they  want  to  know.  '  That  silly  James 
ought  to  have  his  ears  boxed,'  declared  Cook, 
'  to  talk  in  that  way  to  you  about  poor  dear  Miss 
Sylvia.     Trust  Doctor  Henton  for  taking  care 


as  they  won't 
hospital ;     it 


of  her,  he  loves  her  almost  as  well  as  I  do  ;  and 
you  see,  my  dears,  it's  the  scarlet  fever  slie's 
got,  and  very  likely  if  she  stopped  here  the  little 
baby  upstairs  would  take  it,  and  Mother,  too, 
may  be  ;  and  so  the  doctor  said  little  Missy 
must  just  be  taken  to  the  hospital,  where 
she'd  have  a  room  to  herself,  and  a  nm'se,  and 
better  care  than  she  could  have  in  any  private 
house  ;  and  by-and-by  when  she  gets  well  she's 
to  go  to  the  seaside  and  get  strong  and  stout. 
A  little  more  cake,  Master  Harry  and  Miss 
Mary  ?  Do,  there's  loves  ;  old  Cookie  made  it 
a-purpose  for  you.'  Thus  the  good  soul  comforted 
and  cheered  the  forlorn  children  with  her  talk 
and  her  tea.  '  Sylvia  would  soon  be  well 
again,'  she  promised  them  ;  '  but  you  might  as 
well  add  a  bit  of  a  prayer  for  her,  poor  darling,' 
said  Cook,  softly  ;  and  Harry  nodded  ;  and  they 
did  not  forget,  I  promise  you,  for  they  dearly 
loved  their  little  sister. 

*         ^         *         *         *         * 

Sylvia  did  get  better,  but  very  slowly ;  andi 
she  felt  sad  and  lonely  without  the  home  faces,, 
although  her  nurse  was  Irindness  itself,  and 
Sylvia  loved  her  dearly. 

One  day,  as  she  was  lying,  white  and  weary, 
on  her  pillow,  wishing  she  could  see  the  dear 
little  baby  sister  that  she  was  told  was  waiting 
for  her  at  home,  Nurse  came  to  her  bedside  and 
laid  something  on  the  pillow — a  dolly.  Sjdvia 
drew  it  languidly  towards  her ;  but  the  next 
minute  it  was  clasped  tightly  in  her  arms,  and 
a  blissful  smile  lighted  up  the  thin,  pale  face. 

'  My  own  baby  come  to  see  its  little  mother  ! ' 
she  murmured  in  soft,  happy  tones.  Nurse 
looked  surprised ;  she  did  not  know  it  was 
Amy  Lavinia  Kidbody  which  she  had  brought 
to  cheer  the  weary  convalescent. 

Dolly  proved  the  best  of  tonics.  In  her  com- 
pany Sylvia  grew  rapidly  strong,  and  she  kissed 
Amy  so  much  that,  when  ordered  to  the  seaside, 
the  nurse  said  the  doll  was  the  palest  of  the  two. 
So  she  went  with  Sylvia,  and  shared  all  the 
treats  and  seaside  pleasure  of  her  mistress.  And 
then,  let  us  hope,  DoUy  went  back  to  comfort 
another  httle  fever  patient;  and  Sylvia  went 
home  to  play  with  the  dearest  dolly  in  the  world 
— her  own  little  pink-faced  sister ;  and  in  the 
joy  of  a  living  baby  Sylvia  no  longer  needed 
her  old  favourite,  Amy  Lavinia  Kidbody. 

E.  A.  B. 


412 


Sunday  Reading  for  the  Young. 


Sylvia's  Sacrifice. 


•'O 


h* . 


